Eight years my garden stood still, from grief i retreated. It slowly comes alive. The last of the migrating monarchs are passing by, fueling for their rigorous journey. I dare say they never give up. They maneuver obstacles but never give in, unless life is taken away. Great lessons to learn. My heartaches when i consider the lilies of the field and birds of the air, i miss dear ones. I started my promise garden long ago, in memory of my grandfather, his love of the land. Generations of family learned to grow tobacco, a Native American passed down tradition. Our family housed Black Hawk, the night before his massacre. Legends in our family, of late, has been tragedy. Two suicides; grandfather and brother.
I push on in tears and pain and trembling. Never again. I will not put more sorrow into the air. We all need to breathe. Be well, J