we traded mourning and dancing
for unkept valleys?
the breeze on hillsides?
the scent of lillies lingering in the stillness of hot summer air?
and what if we replaced the wormwood and bitterness in us, too, for feeling a part of everyone and everything?
fought the pull of death and life, and just stood in quiet witness to the creation unfolding in every moment?
then, seedlings would be as our beloveds.
our bounty would be fruits and fates unknown.
we would no longer move others, us, or even the world.
and we could finally be here.
in the garden we thought we lost but in which we have been standing all this time.
Neither Mourning nor Dancing: A Garden’s Rebuke