The gardener working in the hot sun, weeding, clipping, lifting heavy loads does not operate mindlessly. The week's events are analyzed. Priorities are set. Decisions made. While the hands are busy, the chaos of the mind is organized.
Sometimes I think about luck and good fortune. Is it possible that optimism breeds opportunity? Who would you rather spend time with, the eternal optimist or a Debbie Downer--waa waa.
A cool fresh breeze or stagnant humidity. I allowed myself once to float at the edges of depression, to stare into a future dark and fearful. It was a place I couldn't bear to be in. I have also known the crushing disappointment of misplacing trust with those who don't deserve it. And I have endured the horrible hurt of severing a toxic relationship before more damage is rendered.
Yet everyday without realizing it, I reduce life's complexities to a simplicity. I mindfully search for laughter and joy, because I know that sharing it delivers disproportionately a greater return, provided you know and understand the caveats. It won't work, for example, with people who are stuck in their own miseries and unable to grow. This disposition of mine, though, seems to bring people and ideas together. Everyday, there are new projects, new leads to follow, new programs to pursue, new thoughts to write down, new books to read, new theories to test. I sometimes feel as if I'm choking on all the possibilities.
This morning I saw that my crepe myrtle was covered with blooms. I feel like it is too early, yet, for her to flower. But perhaps all the rain is rushing the season. Another daylily opened; Spanish Glo splashed her peachy charm against the fence. Her pedals have a petticoat ruffle all the way around them. And the Fourth of July tomatoes are living up to their name, with more than a dozen fruits (is a tomato a fruit?) drooping from the vines. A tiny eggplant sits beneath a purple blossom. And two friendly gold finches are dropping by the feeder and not rushing away when I pass by them as they did earlier this spring. The Putterer
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