You might believe in God, or fate, or chance. It makes no difference; I guess someone, or some thing, is in charge of administering life’s lessons. Whoever it is, they could do with getting their records straight. Before last week I’d been schooled at least three times in the power of the garden to bring solace and recuperation through periods of great stress. Book learning becomes lived experience, head knowledge makes its way to the heart. And yet here I am again, snatching moments between dog walks and hospital visiting hours, in the company of seeds and compost and familiar old friends I’ve not seen for the best part of a year. It all helps – the internal regulation, the restoration of the heart rate to something approaching a normal range, the being put back together again in preparation to sally forth once more into the onslaught. Of course, I get it. I got it the first time, and then again, and again. I could do without the reminders.
Thankfully, things are starting to settling down, and we pick up the pieces (cue horns).
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