No matter what state of mind I’m in when I walk out into the garden on a sunny Sunday afternoon, at least one of my senses is lifted and brought to the fore. My breath catches as I hear the ocean sound shifting north in the changing wind and tide. At the same time my worry scanner is on, sensing garden demands. A plant here that’s a little too dry, sprawling raspberries that have broken free, artichokes colonized by ants. Joy and worry walk with me in the garden. Clearly, worry would like joy to butt out and mind its own business.
Now the sunlight reveals a late-summer slant in the colors it brings out on the zucchini leaves, matched immediately – if not preceded by – the slightly melancholic feeling tone of seasonal change. The wind blows a neighborhood argument in my direction, a dance of vicious words that trails off to be hidden in the ocean. A kaleidoscope of memories arises and focuses on the sound of Sheila Chandra singing: “The ocean, the ocean, accepts all rivers”.