A neighbor stopped by for mint. In the gloaming, we walked through my garden and I offered what I had for her to begin her own garden. Dig this up anytime, take some of this. Then I bent down and pulled some garlic, the new skins white as the moon where my fingers rubbed the dirt loose. A half dozen heads I handed her, this good crop, my soil sprinkling over our fingers.

I remembered the death of a man. He was a gardener, and he was speaking on his deathbed: “You know, I used to sweat sometimes when I was digging. My rheumatism would pull at my leg, and I would damn myself for a slave. And now, do you know, I’d like to spade and spade. It’s beautiful work. A man is free when he is using a spade. And besides, who is going to prune my trees when I am gone?”

– Saint-Exupéry

Photo by Molly S.