Yes I know; where have I been? Haven’t I been reading and why haven’t I posted about literature?
Well for one thing, it’s spring and the seeds that hide in the corners of paper packets and the three-kinds-of-tomatoes and two-hot-one-sweet-pepper plants are depending upon me to release them to be whatever they want to grow up into being in this world.
Meanwhile, some things just happen on their own. A determined dill plant,
following its instinct and free of human intervention can find what it needs to survive in the crack of concrete and gather its bits of dirt around itself and sprout where it’s fallen on the step from my hands last September where I sat collecting the seeds for this year’s planting. Which depend upon me and still wait.
But even the great call to attend to the gardens and yards doesn’t get its full attention from me this spring. I have wrapped myself up in a hypertext world so am writing, writing and creating natural things that come out of my head and do not like dirt and birdseed.
But my oriole has deserted the hummingbird feeder and now my cardinals are scolding for the loss of their seed. I need to give time to the outside this morning. I need to find time in between writing to read. I need, I suppose, the determination of dill.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology