Like clouds changing shape
Hello friends,
A permanent layer of dirt has embedded itself under my fingernails. I've cut them as short as possible and scrubbed and scrubbed, but the soil remains. I don't mind it, though, this gardener's manicure. It's a constant invitation to return to the earth and sink my hands deep. It's a badge of honor for the work I'm doing, both outside and in.
With MS, sometimes my mind goes fuzzy. It's not so much tv static as it is cotton balls pulled apart, the wispy strands connected to each other by the barest margin. Like clouds changing shape, my thoughts are at the mercy of shifting winds. When I'm gardening, though, I can let my mind wander. I can send it out to rest on the leaves and flowers, let it find a bed on the freshly turned earth. I can disappear into nature without worrying that I'm meant to be somewhere else.
Did you know that certain palm trees are sold as houseplants for upwards of $50—in some cases, more than $150. And yet I have a forestful of them just beyond my door. They're so prolific here in Florida that a carpet of new palm growth spreads out beneath the shade of the old. I'm considering potting some of the little ones and giving them away as gifts. Even just thinking about fresh dirt on my hands makes me smile.
Gardening has given me a purpose lately. Many of my Patreon haikus have been about planting. On the days when I feel like I can't do anything—when my brain is too foggy, or my leg feels like jello—at least I have my garden. I can sit and prune or pot or dig. I can keep my hands busy while my mind rests.
Shabbat shalom,
Yardena