Oh the glorious day drifted into me like soft bog cotton on the wind and I was all set to embrace it. I honoured it by baking two loaves of bread first thing and by ten a.m. they cooled on the countertop like a beautiful gift, sifted with seeds and brimming with goodness. I knew it was going to be a good day, I could feel it in the air.
My son was coming home from college. His Spring break was about to start. I cleaned house. I dusted the photographs on the mantle, I bought extra good food from the store. I went to the fishmonger. I planned to steam the fish in our new bamboo steamer. I went mad and threw in bok choy and tons of fresh ginger. I made Cranberry and coconut cookies. Bound to bring joy to those who bite into the tang of grated orange zest hidden, disguised in the mix.
I went to the garden. I have missed it. I looked at the drills. They were covered in weeds. I said to myself this day will not pass until I have weeded all the drills. I began and found a new faith in myself. I dug out the rocks and old potatoes, I found seeds of peas, I tossed the weeds underneath the willow trees. I told H to find the barrow to carry away the heavy stuff. Soon the ground was fresh and ready for planting. For onions at least and in a few weeks potatoes and from there who knows. Whatever takes our fancy.
And my son came home and we savoured the paté and brown bread for lunch and some good cheese and then I bid him farewell as I headed to the garden and soon after he ambled down to me to say, Mom you look so happy. And I laughed, muddied and full of hope I was. I am happy. A mother in a garden who happened to be fortunate to hear the first pheasant of the season. A heavenly crex crex. It filled me up. And then overhead the heron flew like a concorde through the still air and I was transfixed and there is my son, home from the city, watching me like a god and I think whatever this life is about I must have it here. I must never forget that.
Small dog loves me in the garden. She hovers close by. She darts through the grass and bog like it is her second home. We are all thankful of this reprieve. Nature can be kind. Our hope settles in the air, though silent it is still palpable. I thank the gods who gift me this. A glorious day from out of nowwhere and I thank the son who stands to watch me bend over a muddied drill and I thank the gods for giving me my son and my sons and I thank Small dog for always shadowing me and for always waiting for me to lift my head to the sun that attempts to break through the constant cloud to warm my weary bones, to give me this unexpected gift of joy.