top of page
Search
  • Writer's pictureAram Mitchell

tangled

Lauren tends gardens at our house that grow each season. Her gardens grow produce. And they also grow, each year, in proportion to the rest of the yard. Yesterday she took some of her yield around to our neighbors, sharing from the plenty that, in collaboration with our little plot of earth, she has managed to manifest. This evening I’m taking some cucumbers to share with a group of people gathering at the Maine Audubon for a Seasonal Celebration; a gathering to celebrate where the earth is at present in orientation to the star that keeps us situated in space.

I imagine weaving some twine through and between all those things — the sun, the cucumbers, Lauren’s intentions, time, neighborliness, space, soil, and all the rest. That’s the sort of tangled awareness with which I want to live my days.

15 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

I confess to often wanting less than what the sparky spirit of life might want to be making through me. I confess to being often ignorant of death, shying from the rich mysteries that might dwell in m

It’s autumn, and has been for who’s-to-say how many weeks. Fall first struck me this year at sixty miles per hour. I was driving the long waves of tree-lined interstate one day and started to notice t

bottom of page