Sweet basil across my palms. Thyme crushed in the crooks of my fingers. Oregano, spicy and lemony, rubbed between fingertips. My hands perfumed. I could stand here all day and press the fresh, green leaves to my nose. Fondle. Inhale.
What do I want to say about my little potted backyard garden? How accomplished I feel? How rewarded? Zen? Like herbs in a main course, my garden is a welcome addition, a complement to everyday life. But it is only a taste—pleasing, tempting, and bittersweet. I long for so much more than a backyard garden can ever give me.
While I wait, I’ll take this bouquet garni and make you something wonderful.
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| Reason I Didn't Write Yesterday: Recovering Thumbsucker |
I love your herb garden. And I love you as a child. Especially the surliness.
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