Lettuce, beets, kale and new spuds were enjoyed by all. The garden is taking off. The spinach has bolted. I will let a few go to seed for next year.
My small grandson picked and ate raspberries until his hands and face were stained red. I told his mother he has to find his own food, let the dogs know he’s boss and cry when he gets stung by bees.
It’s easy really.
The dogs snarl at each other. I can almost feel their joy. The scent of the bush lapped up.
Our house was full. I wonder at night. Watch the news. I thought long and hard, if I had turned on the TV ten years earlier and saw police shooting people, a sniper killing police in the streets, would I have thought it was normal, or would I have considered it the end of times?
We are cruel. We are able to inflict incredible pain on each other. We do so willingly. Is there another animal that does this?
The release of the Chilcot Report. Countries being occupied. People killed in our name.
Trump and Clinton trading insults, while the world begs for a leader.
Is this the best we can do?
Could I forgive if I was on the other side?
In the morning Lisa fed Cooper his breakfast. We laughed. Met the day, remarked it was still raining, the garden can use it. We walked the bush, counting the ten trees. Buried more pea seeds where the others didn’t come up. Found a four leaf clover and gave it to my daughter.
Our small grandson can say, ‘dad’, ‘dog’ and, after this weekend,”gar-den”.
I worry at night and wander.