We spend our lives hurrying away from the real, as though it were deadly to us. “It must be up there somewhere on the horizon,” we think. And all the time it is in the soil, right beneath our feet. – William Bryant Logan, Dirt: The Ecstatic Skin of the Earth

Bloom where you are planted. – Author Unknown

From an aunt, long ago: “Death has come for me many times but finds me always in my lovely garden and leaves me there, I think, as an excuse to return.” – Robert Brault, rbrault.blogspot.com