Sunday, August 02, 2009

the words are written in the air

Someday the herb bed in our front yard will (per the plan) border a reclaimed brick patio. Right now, it's just a big L cut into the middle of our grass. Really, it's the girl's herb garden, she is the current and future healer, the one who sings to plants and stops bleeding with leaves and has an apothecary of sorts underneath her loft bed. And maybe it looks funny, the way all these plants are springing up, surrounded by lawn. But so many of them are flowering now, and mostly they just look beautiful:

My creation

I was playing this song (this impromptu-esque live version, particularly, more than the studio version) a lot this past winter. And something made me think of it today. It's glad and hummy and oh, thirtysomethingwithkidsandworriesandbilllsandgrayhair don't you remember dancing?

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