Did I say green?
I meant she’s outside.
Which rather surprised me and it shouldn’t have. I’ve met her before, always outside—at the beach or the ravine or in the sunrise or sunset on Goose Hill (yes, it gets both, this magical place at the end of my street). She’s often on the streets and sidewalks that run through my neighbourhood and once I found her in a little patch of milkweed that’s easy to overlook.
But mostly she’s in the garden right outside the back door, among the weeds.
It’s with a hoe that I find her every time.
She speaks through fistfuls of creeping charlie and chickweed and pretty soon—no matter how daunting, no matter how much needs to be dealt with before it’s done and no matter that I won’t get it done today—just doing whatever I can, an hour’s worth, a half hour—makes an enormous difference to the whole thing, allows me to move around inside it a bit better, see it all that much more clearly.
Less chickweed, more clarity.
It never fails.
And she is never not there.
Yet, fool that I am, I forget… and wait for her at my desk.
Where do you find yours?