the garden got fully queer, this year
intuitive, self-reflective, erotic, fractal, co-creative
i don't know what will happen tomorrow
more than ever ever, i wake in awe that there is space to breathe and heal
this is not a 'productive' garden
the cats haunt the roses and try to eat bees
this is not a time for hand wringing
look upon the beauty of the world before it is gone
pregnant people came to this garden this summer to resonate with each other, six feet apart
we brought out a bag of clay and some tools and set up a place to touch another form of earth
who will create ritual if not us?
if our mother keeps living, day to day, what does it matter if we do not rest in her glorious softness?
it is not a privilege to pause, it is a prayer
reciprocity begins in witnessing
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