Gathering

The rains fell steadily this year…early. Spring was damp and hard on the spirit. I’d had a “knowing” that the season would switch to hot and crispy and dry…and it did. As a practice, I do not water my natural gardens—not because I live in a area where water is scarce (usually), but because things I’d learned in grade school taught me to mind and treasure water—and limit my water usage as prayer and homage to those who are water deprived. I’ve never forgotten. But this year, I saw suffering—and six times wove my way out to the various beds and sacred spaces with five-gallon buckets and a watering can…and let them drink: they were happy. This evening, I visited the older raised beds…knowingly and repeatedly delighted by the simple bounty. The long hours of seed starting and tending show themselves strongly some months later.