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What happened to childhood?
The growing season keeps getting shorter, too much sun too soon. In my garden, young plants are protected. The weeds are pulled out. The watering is steady. It is my job to give them a chance to grow into themselves. I wear the gloves. I pull creepy crawlies from their stems and toss them to the weeds. This business of forced blooming is a dangerous one. Despite the aesthetic appearance of maturity, full blossoms quickly fade. We, the older folks, know this.
The garden needs tending.
gvw©
Labels: childhood, tending the garden
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