There is Even a Spring in my Steps
Oh, boy, do I ever love spring! Part of me can hardly tear myself away from the balmy out of doors but; another creative part wants to pour all sorts of thoughts and ideas into my blog.
I made my very own moss-lined hanging basket this very day. Wandering around this good old acreage of ours brings many delights, and one of the little surprises was discovering moss here and there. (If you're from the seacoast you may be rolling your eyes about now, but we're not. We are landlocked.)
Since we weren't going to town anytime soon, tomorrow isn't soon enough, I decided to get creative and line my own hanging basket. There is something in me that gets a thrill out of being able to make something from just about nothing. Those vines were hanging around in the house because I had taken cuttings from them earlier. The johnny-jump-ups were even freer. I stole them out of the moss garden that I have been gradually building up over the years. Why are they so insignificant-looking? We are from the north country, sir or ma'am, so just give 'em time, give 'em time.
"So, what does this have to do with the books you are writing," do I hear someone ask? Well, er, I-- in that book about the first century that hasn't hit the press yet, I would like to think Damaris, or maybe Lydda or Chana would have tried to make a moss garden. Oh, I know, I know, that's pretty far fetched, but hey, dreaming is free, isn't it?
Goodnight and may you have many happy dreams of gardening or whatever turns your crank.
Now should I get really formal and sign off with: