I know we are supposed to do as much as possible with every minute of our time, in order to be worthy human beings.
But I need a slower tempo now. More rests and sustains.
It feels good to drive a little ways on Saturday and buy the flowers Peggy grows. It’s enough to hear the unmistakable voice of my friend Ann talking to the Lily Grower as I drive away from the market – and head to to her house in the meanwhile, to unload my bucket of flowers into the shade and wait for her to get home so we can visit.
The trees are flashing the silver behind their deep green leaves, like white caps measuring the currents of the breeze. And the embankments are thick with stars of orange ditch lilies and bursts of blue chicory. The stands of corn and distant groves of shade trees slope up and away, passing like July before you know it.
I can’t think of any better way to be filled by my time.