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Twice around a finger judged and loved

Updated on April 25, 2016

Death, no one knew

I misspoke once in a book, yet that was for men. I am speaking to spirit and life here, that it never happens in the garden is our little secret, all of you. You had known the withering heights of lost foliage and the composting nature of fertilizer alive with organisms, then know nothing ever dies, it is a life. Not life to say just constant. As many a farmer knows that you rest the bed for the next harvest in the rotation of nutrients, or so the old timers told me. I think it was wise, over farming the land was the cost.

I would not speak that this is garden variety magic, for a barn witch. Not a hoot owl, just a actor's studio where branches like banks spill into the mud and give life to seeds. Nothing cryptic here, not intended for the novice garden hand or the new to thought.

I would say many old bulbs, like the sleep they do in winter is a kin to life in dormant stages of the organism. It is an awakening grace, that life inside the sleep of the earth is still living a life of unseen interactions and gardening under the belly of night.

Just a thought. It is much in spirit, raised form the energies of nature, then in waking, walking, sitting, crossing and standing senses and thoughts would commune with the sleep and mists. Or it is awake, gardening in spirit, more so challenging when all is the belief of the past belief and it is the meaning that differences are truths to the truths they believe. I am of my beliefs, so would the spirit garden be. I know what seeds I plant and borrow, what I take with gratitude of friendship and what I divide and share. That is my gardening tips.


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