Waking up this morning, I discover that I’m quite happy about the seeds I started yesterday. Just nasturtiums and zinnias, but an abundance of each. Enough to cover the barren hillside behind the Temple with lush late summer green and orange. Enough to edge the by-then-boring hostas near the granite Buddha with pastel blossoms fit for an occasion of great importance.
The flaky brown chips and small withered balls I poke carefully down into their separate little dirt homes reveal nothing of their destination. But I already see their fruition of bright blossoms.
Knowing they are beginning their mysterious journey gives me great comfort as I contemplate writing the perfect ‘pitch letter’ and making decisions about my upscoming new web site and accomplishing the other impossible tasks that are my lot today.
Where does beauty come from?
How can it be so persistent and dependable despite my perpetual misgivings?
I go inside and stare at the wet cubicles of dirt on the counter of my office to see what I can learn.