The path emerges

I am behind. Aren't we all behind? So the only hour I had to give to the garden today was early this morning. No so early, but early enough that when I arrived the light was still silver-blue at the edges, the air was wet crisp, and the sun was small. WeMoon was quiet except for the light hum of traffic on Mahan and a few chirping birds. I took in a big, deep breath of some of our first autumn air and felt at once thoughtful and awake. It always feels a little like this to me here -- when I am alone or when there are lawnmowers and women singing and music playing and people laughing, serenity and positive energy seem to be floating about, free for anyone to breath in.

I spent a few minutes stepping lightly around the overturned pots that were marking our tentative path, getting a feel for this garden and what it would soon become, then began raking. Layers of mulch, hay, and newspapers came up, along with the occasional earthworm and even a tiny good luck snake. The snake was only about as long as a finger, and was pink with a cream-colored belly. At first I thought he was the fastest earthworm I'd ever seen, but we soon figured each other out and I took him to a better spot. I raked very carefully after that. Just about when my hour ended, Helen arrived, and dove right in digging the beds. The earth came up dark, with a few ribbons of gray sand. It was beautiful in itself and its potential.

As I drove away I tried to fix that picture in my mind: a gently winding path of dark, loamy soil, not yet a garden exactly, but ready and waiting to receive and nurture seeds and plants. And then I let that image fade, and tried to envision the garden that would emerge after Saturday's "garden pot-luck" gathering. I decided that was a little taxing on the imagination -- who can begin to suppose what can happen when many hands and minds and plants and seeds come together? So I went home to get ready for work, thankful to have started my day with such luxury.