"Dear soul, if you were not friends
with the vast nothing inside,
why would you always be casting you net
into it, and waiting so patiently?"
A certain degree of estrangement from other people can be a prerequisite to peaceful solitude. But at a certain point, it can imprison us in the cage we make to keep the vast nothing outside. Once opened, the howling wilderness of civilization threatens to rush in and devour us.
Behold the pause between the late and early – the seasonal holding of its breath before the moon chills the lengthening nights, and the afternoon sun weakens it’s stranglehold on the last late dahlias.
Do gardens have souls, or are they merely the perfect way station where other disembodied souls can pause and refresh themselves along their journey?