"Touch your garden. Touch the handful of earth in your fist as it crumbles like plans and relationships you once had, in the past, in the past. Touch the petals of a rose to know that beauty fades and disappears before your astonished fingers but lives forever shimmering in your body’s memory. Touch bamboo leaves, fragile in shadow and green, and feel your own shadow cast upon the garden by the precious years of your time and place on the earth. Touch each hand that touches your garden, and feel the remnants of the garden that adhere to those hands. Touch the rough, the scarred, and the dirty places on your hands and in your life."
From my The Garden: Perennial Reflections on Beginnings and Ends Chapter 53 Touch Your Garden
