I found a pair of old gardening gloves in the garage today. My mind went first to the thick and fertile flower fields of Carlsbad, skimming the tops of blossoms as it careened through memory. The coastal breeze turns their faces from the sun—a momentary meditation on discipline. Don’t drink too much or you’ll burn up.
After the fields came my own box garden behind the guest house.
There is a riddle about a man who is locked in a room with nothing but a bed and a calendar, and the question is this: How does he survive? The answer is: He eats dates from the calendar and drinks water from the springs of the bed. — Kurt Vonnegut