I weeded the pavement in front of my house on Saturday for the first time since John died. I watched the earthworms, spiders and geckos wriggling back into the dark, painted my hands with the wet earth. I felt good to be at one with nature, notwithstanding the condoms, smeared toliet paper and sundered bottles I picked up and threw away along with the weeds.
Young people walking by regarded me with sullen suspicion, or stifled sarcastic chortling to their mates. It was the older people – the people who’d been through much worse than this, whatever ‘this’ the younger people believed they were suffering through – who shared a smile and a greeting and a comment on the weather. I thought this was a revealing fact, but I’m not sure what it reveals. (more…)
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