There’s something magical that happens… to me… when I’m in my garden.
Something exotic, erotic, entangling, esoteric…
I’d imagine it is most similar to the inebriation that blurred the eyes of the sailors as their Sirens sang.
I get swept away.
My heart smiles.
My thoughts drift to the hope and wishes of mother plants dropping their fruit.
And every thing is good.
The light is hot.
The earth is warm.
The water climbs it’s way through the veins of stems to find thirsty pockets in leaves.
Curious flights of butterflies land delicate on brightly bursting blooms.
I want nothing more than to always be… where magic happens… inside of me.