Hold Nothing Back

Let love decide.

Tiny Bun-bun is always alone, nibbling clover and taking shade beneath ever growing violets. One realizes giving is never reluctant but cannot say if that is a law of God or not. Sure, give always – hold nothing back. But even a child knows to hold onto at least a little in order to move to the next stage. Food for thought.

Re-homing 41 hastas, planting butterfly weed and some other kind of perennial with purpling spires. I clear a section for a better crop of milkweed next year. The yard has become a place to experiment and play, craft and love, tend and be tended. It is alive and asks to be treated as something different than the day before. It's hot and I sweat through my bandana, shouting from the porch door to the boys who are deeply engaged in a 4 hour board game, for a water refill and another sweat rag. After the work, I shower and soak in eucalyptus epsom salts to head off assured pain. I move about the house stilted in grimaced steps.

But happy.

Ibuprofen, ice, cannabis – the salve of age – old and getting older.

Vermont waiting. Generating. Entrusting.

To grow and yet disassemble. I reach out my empty aging hand in the willingness to receive.