I had breakfast in the garden this morning. I mean this more literally than in the usual sense, as it
wasn't a matter of me carrying around a cup of coffee and a slice of toast as I sat at a patio table and enjoyed the morning. The raspberries are at last in full bearing mode, cherry and pear tomatoes are ripening, the herb containers on the deck are fragrant, and the first green and yellow peppers are ripe. It's not like my wife and I are prodigious vegetable gardeners; we actually lean more toward the ornament side in our gardening tastes, but we do grow enough edibles to offer enough for two middle-aged folks during the growing season. This morning's breakfast was a matter of literally plucking the food from the canes, stalks, and vines and munching them whole while wandering around the early morning garden.
Over the course of two hours, I felt some of the tension from the week drain away into the earth; gardens for me are literally grounding, soaking up
This morning, anyway, that sense of well-being is profound indeed.