This Paradise

How long it takes to get this yard in shape for the sufficiency of summer. I bend to make more grow, to keep less growing in this Paradise, this morning-to-night job. My props lie in the grass about me. I shall forget to take one in and wonder often what became of it always in view of where I work. Among the winter- scrapped leaves, on the tangled straw, in the dark and snarl of pine, a violet. " A plant is only a seed's way of making another seed." Is that all, year after year back? Year after year I know not a hard fact of its origin or end, only that its first color in spring is a vivid small impulse of life taking its name in passing light too hidden for a painter's hand. Only that the psalmist said it better than the botanist. Only that I stoop and say thank you. To a flower.

About these ads
Sponsored Content by LockerDome

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK