Saturday, November 20, 2010

A snail crawling up my wellington

Today started off with a snail crawling up my wellington. More than likely, he figured I was his last bastion of safety against the onslaught of alien invasion (i.e. my hands ripping his weedy home away). I felt sorry for him and dropped him off gently to the lawn clippings. 
And now it ends with coriander seeds and lavender in my lap. 
I looked up the thesaurus for alternatives to describe ‘toil’: labour, work, slog, plug away…. None of these really fit what it is that goes on in there, in our little garden.
I don’t know what IT is that goes on or know one single word to describe it but it feels like quiet. Physical. Methodical. With purpose    but without end. 
My hands smell like rosemary, lavender, coriander. That’s what contentment smells like. 

No comments:

Post a Comment