So I mulched and weeded, re-arranged. Golfed yesterday. Don’t know why golf has become a burden + a chore. Barely do it, although I like it. Especially yesterday because I played well. Have spent more time outside in the last few days than I have in a while. And still have to tidy up,
weed more, mulch much
The beds are almost done, but the hill in front of the house ugh! Yet the net entices me to hit balls into it, or I bring sheets + pillowcases to hang on the line to dry. Weed some more in another bed. Yet plants remain over-rooted + bulging out of their original plastic containers, some stalky weeds almost up to my waist near the rocks in front, a few sprinklers to be redirected, seeds not sown.
hmm. seeds not sown
I saw 🍅 earlier today, just a handful in a couple of the tomato plants. Finally have a good table + chairs on the back patio! It’s nice to sit there, especially when there’s a breeze, and watch the work of our hands and nature grow + sway.
but (i wonder if you can sense it in my words),
why do I sound | feel | think so sullenly? So forlorn. Might have used that word recently somewhere. How vague. The definition of forlorn is so-so, the synonyms too, except for comfortless, which astonishes me because I have comforts. Dark clouds at times hang around for days, months. Maybe even years? They come + go. Push it away: the fog, and live in reality — the real life. It’s out there. I mean
It takes planting the seeds of patience, release, and forgiveness for peace to rain down upon me. Every now + then, I need a little watering too. So I purse my lips and blow it all off.