Pilgrim on Hancock Street

I wrote a bunch of 6-word autobiographies last night in preparation for my writing workshop with the kiddos today; here’s one for my North-facing, Brooklyn-dwelling life:

watches sun slants obsessively, container gardener

Each day the sun angles a few degrees more accomodatingly to my stoop and its future garden. I have resigned myself to the possibility that I might re-locate my tomato pots to the sidewalk grass patch across the street in the event that my hopeful desires don’t fruit.

Speaking of universal axes, when I turned on the compact fluorescent bulb this morning, I found a bunch more seeds waking up in my cat-proof indoor system. They’ve been at it for one week today. Watching a plant emerge from seed, limbs unfurling slow and awkward, is pretty damn cool.

sprout yoga: forward bendjust born tomato plantbasil sprouts, towering mightily and lingering leafily in the underbrushglobe amaranth flowers sayin’ helloTapping into a more seasonal life is actually fun. By slowing down enough to pay attention to things like this, I feel insanely connected to everything. (It’s probably not coincidental that I’m reading/devouring Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.) I do hope Spring’s mysteries continue to burst forth from their esoteric shells. The world could use a little more real connectivity.

What have you noticed around you lately?

Comments

[Deborah]

I noticed how much I like reading your blog posts!

[Kate]

Awww, sweet mama.