Blossoms v. Trash

Many years ago, when we took my younger daughter to the ocean for the first time, she had one question. She was barely three, and such a little girl her older sister often carried her. Driving to Maine, we described how long the beach would be. She asked, Will there be sand for everyone?

We assured her there would be plenty of sand.

Again, traveling across Vermont, I realize just how much of this state there is, how much forest, stream, mountain, sky; we are wealthy beyond imagining. Walking along an unfamiliar street in Burlington today, by the cement’s side sprouted a cluster of wild golden flowers, a blossom I had never seen, tiny beauties the size of my smallest fingernail. Later, driving home with VPR, I counseled myself to tally up my blessings. So many people in the world battle over scant resources, and here I am, finding flowers instead of cigarette butts.

The morning glories
bloom, securing the gate
in the old fence

— Basho

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