I wish words grew as fast as my yard. Especially, when neglected as my yard has been for the past year or so. Once my yard was beautiful and then I got involved. I started planting things and then I got busy. Too busy to deadhead, too busy to trim, just too damn busy.
|Before the mow job 2018|
The lot next to my grandparents was owned by the mayor of Vancouver at the time and a land baron. He never did anything with it and it flowed with wild fruit--several cherry trees including two big enough for us to climb, two thatches of blackberries, filbert aka hazelnut trees, a crab apple tree, and a decrepit little peach tree that only bore fruit once that I know of which how we realized what kind of tree it was.
|After the mow job 2018|
If you look at my current pictures, you may be wondering what happened to said cherry tree. It's gone as it rotted and basically split down the middle. Now, blackberries have grown up over the trunk and are the bane of my garden's existence.
Back to the writing thing...like my garden, I have been neglecting my words. I think about writing a lot. But something happens--life, maybe?---between the thinking and the doing. I wish that when I sat down to write the words would sprout new life like my garden tends to. I have bluebells where I never planted, the afore mentioned blackberries every freaking where, and a surprise forget-me-not trying to sustain on my curb.
|....THIS?? I can't even see that stump anymore|
|How did this (circa 2010) become....|
I want my words to be as out of control as my yard. I want neglect to strengthen my muse. I want my yard to be gentle once again.
My dad is laughing right now. He'd say, "Want in one hand and poop in the other and see which fills up first." But, he'd say it in his sailor lingo with a few substitutions.
And he'd be right. I can spend all this time wanting for something different, or I can get off my duff and just write. Here's to making our wishes come true--or at least reaching for them.