Intent

I planned to start the lettuces inside this year, but I planted potatoes in the garden, and then I planted some peas, and then some carrot seeds, and then cabbage, and then the lettuce went right in, too. Sometimes sowing seed is a chore, but nothing's a chore when it's April and the sun's out.

I pulled the bags of seeds that had been stratifying in the fridge and sowed those, too, but into flats. Shooting stars, river oats, odds and ends from a nearby prairie. I'm curious to see what will happen. Yesterday I met a couple who spent the last couple decades of their lives living deep in the woods, and now they live up on an open hillside and are trying to learn to love oak savanna. Something about it was kind of touching to me- the way they lived so intently in one place and then so intently in another.

 The chives are coming up now, and so is there rhubarb- mostly in places I forgot I had moved it. I was told once that in Islam, original sin is original forgetfulness, and that's always seemed to true to me. But forgetfulness is blessing, too; it lets you find rhubarb where you don't expect it. Last night I talked with a friend about what it means to have a sense of wonder, and as the conversation ended, a bright blue meteor fell through the sky- I swear it did. What a world.