June 3rd, 2011
These typing fingers are soiled, earth under nails that planted new life at The Orchard today. Safely cocooned, the seedlings are tucked in their beds, fresh tendrils bathed in moonlight, wiggling worms for company below curly roots, spiders spinning, owls overhead.
I sang to them as I always do, the chickens gently cooing as I picked. But this time, there was a fresh sense of company. No longer a simple soliloquy, my apple pips sang to harmonics and undertones, so subtle they were almost silent. But unmistakably, a shadow of a glimmer of the grace of my dear brothers was present in The Orchard today. The song has passed from one to a few, and from there to a mineral existence now dreamed and pinned to a day.
So this evening, please indulge this flowery expression of profound gratitude as we step onward together in this song, these extraordinary brothers and I, ready to grow beauty as only this little band of friends can…