gardening · home · On Writing · The Good Life

Dirty Words

Yesterday was not a good day for words.

I had nothing. Once I’d posted my daily blog, that was it.

Not a peep, not a giggle, not anything from the characters — not even when I promised to write anything that they dictated.

Aggravated, went to the gardener’s center down the street and bought 350 pounds of small stones and armloads of impatiens and begonias.

Hauled stones around the tree with the others. Planted flowers in window boxes. Watered everything long and well whether it needed it or not.

There. Accomplished something worthwhile, beautiful, and rewarding mess.

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