Plants Are Real Like Dirt And Water And Wind And Bees

It was hot today, bloody hot. The sun beat down, the sky was blue. The garden looked tired. Since I have this new found ownership - is that the right word? - stewardship over the garden, which means I water it now a days, I notice what is going on with it, take more interest, give it more than an occasional glance. I watered it in the morning and I watered it in the evening. 

It was hot
The garden sighed, in thank you. 

I don't know why I haven't enjoyed watering the garden before? It is kind of therapeutic, relaxing. Is cathartic the right expression? No, but the power feels the same. I guess, if I found enlightenment amongst the petals, it would be. You know, you kind of do. It is meditative. People have always said that, and you know it is true. Who'd have thought it. People don't always lie? Amazing. Plants are the truth.

There is an enchanted world under every leaf, if you look closer enough, as the water drips.

I wanted to soak the soil on the hot day and then walk barefoot in it, squelching it between my toes, like mud cakes when I was young.

But, you know, just holding the hose and watching the water fall from the end of it, vaguing out, mouth open, staring into space, is the joy.

watching it sprinkle
watching it fall
feeling the spray
getting the wind blowing it back
the crystals falling
the ground absorbing
everything washed new