Life Lessons from an August Garden
A prose poetry listicle
- Some of the things you planted won’t have worked. No matter. Not all endeavors bear fruit in the end, and we are no worse off for having given them a chance. Learn from mistakes and move on.
- Plants are not wholly unlike people. If one of them is persistently bothersome, do not make a home for it in your garden, or it will almost certainly come back to bother you again next year.
- Treat fresh tomatoes like good ideas. Don’t hoard them; they are better shared, preferably sun-ripened and straight off the vine.
- Likewise plums. Don’t let them linger too long on the tree, lest the wasps get to them before you do.
- Follow the example of the birds. Surrender to the season’s invitation to rest, don’t fritter away your energy and keep your nest as cool as possible.
- To a point, make friends with the weeds. They’ve lived here a lot longer than you, and have magic and medicine of their own to share.
- Pay attention to the trees and the way they sway in the wind. Repeat.
- Embrace the mess, or else you’ve lost. Find beauty in disorder and decay.
- If it rains, go outside immediately. Inhale. Fall in love.
- Know that all storms pass.
- If you think the best days are past, the unopened sunflowers have something to tell you.
- Nights belong to the wild. Be still, tread soft, and be introduced to her cohort of wondrous mysteries.
- No one ever caught a shooting star who wasn’t looking up.
- Gentler days might seem far away, but they are surely on their way.
- The light will never be more beautiful than it is now.
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