From yard, outside the door to my study: a rake. A rather beaten-up looking geranium. A fuschia. I start every day with the aim of hurling myself energetically at gardening (after all, I have the time and space and potential for regular watering this summer). Every day, I seem to count myself to have achieved something if I have, indeed, watered, and dead-headed some flowers. Once again, I'm hoping, sincerely, for something more ambitious tomorrow. Read this as allegory, if you wish.
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