I've been thinking about what to write about this morning. Stuck. Nothing new. Nothing interesting, nothing except problems - and who wants to write about that. Maybe some fresh air will help.
I open my front door, and, almost like a synchronized dance, a beautiful, green throated humingbird flew down to drink from the purple blossom trumpets of the Mexican Sage bush. The swoosh of the door, quietly dancing with the swoosh of his wings.
Yesterday I was wondering whether to get rid of the Mexican Sage bush. Even though it's finally blooming, it needs more soil, more room to grow, and so I was thinking of getting rid of it - of giving it to my brother who has a big yard with plenty of elbow room for roots.
Was it for his benefit? Or was it for mine?
Was he telling me "I need this plant as much as you neeed an idea"
Maybe this is the agreement -
the two-birds-with-with-one-stone agreement.
purple blossom trumpets
in exchange for an idea,
maybe even a poem.
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