I was curious about this plant which was growing out of a clump of hosta.  Technically a weed – something I didn’t put there and which isn’t included in the scheme of things.  But I was curious and let it grow enough to produce delicate white flowers.  The texture of the petals is like a brushed cotton, the kind my favourite summer shirts are made of.

Landscapes are comforting when they have that same soft, nubby texture.  Rolling fields punctuated by hills and carved into high relief by gullies.  In early Spring the edges are fuzzy with new growth and by Summer the haze of greens add to the sensations of an oft-wrapped shawl or a worn quilt.

These days, I do best in relationships that have this lazy,  undulating flow, textured with comfort and soothing encounters.  There are few expectations other than an agreement to be gentle with each other.  We say things like “thank you for understanding” and “that’s such a relief to hear” or “let me see what I can do.”  Life’s too long for anything else.

Frank was cleaning out the last two boxes of our vegetable garden while I worked on being fixated by the weeds coming up from the “weed-killer” landscape covers.  In a moment of rest, I saw him sitting in the earth of the 4 x 4 box looking for all intent like a child in a sandbox.  “You make a beautiful child,” I said – knowing full well his life had not included the luxury of sandboxes.  We laughed.

It’s never too late to change the landscape of our lives.