Time spent in the garden has been limited of late. Two weeks ago,
during a particularly lovely morning, I sustained a significant hand wound when
a chair I was sitting in toppled over. I knew its legs were unstable, resting
on some large tree roots, but I totally underestimated the danger. Ten stitches
and a tetanus shot later, I returned to the garden, rather gingerly, vowing
that the remaining prongs of an old rusty rebar trellis (the culprit associated
with my injury) must be removed.
Since my accident, I've felt vulnerable and subdued; but even so, I've taken great delight in observing nature's response to our extended spring. And although the doctor listed gardening as a prohibited activity
during my recovery, I’ve found that one hand can remove wilted blossoms, pull a
few weeds and gather a sprig or two for a tiny nosegay. Healing, I sense,
requires more than a few stitches . .
.
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