Amanda: And So It Begins Again

What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.


Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less
Withdraws into its happiness;
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates, transcending these,
Far other worlds, and other seas;
Annihilating all that’s made
To a green thought in a green shade.

— Andrew Marvell. 1621–1678

I spent the morning getting ready to leave. The garden was glowing with all sorts of promise I have to abandon with the dog trip to points west. Tomatoes are surging. The kale has a its own jungle. Melons have been ripening overnight. I clipped Dahlias yesterday to assure a bountiful supply for my nephew’s wedding in a few weeks. Maybe some year, I will not go. Maybe I will not succumb to the lure of my sport. Maybe I will not have to leave this beauty.

I have tried to figure out what I have forgotten. I’ll notice when I need it.