Today, a gift. Three small bags stuffed with handfuls of sedum. And another filled with several clumps of daylilies. An afternoon spent up and down on the rocky slope, planting. Tucking in green among the stones. The balance and give of the body, the muscles' stretch and contraction. Being able to dig and plant, to work.
To remember for a moment and then, forget again, illness, constraint, inability. To pick up where one once left off, to see what has gone on growing without tending: the blooms of the periwinkle on a grey cloud day with new sprouts reaching and rooting, new clumps of lemon balm, and the tightly curled leaves of the hostas rising through the dead leaves' litter.