Dirt

I am moving in a matter of weeks. I won’t get to see this garden in its grown state. And I certainly will not be back to see if the landlord keeps it up (he’s not around that often). 
But there is a great deal of pleasure in settling the pinks and 
columbines and geraniums into their soft brown beds. I’d like them to bloom before I leave, but I don’t need to – the blooms in my imagination will be glorious.
I will water them and fuss over them because I can. 
And I spent ages cleaning the dirt from under my fingernails – and realized that it is a muc
h healthier dirt than that which I have been slowly shucking off for the past months

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