Saturday, January 28, 2012

Murphy on horticulture

            “…But what baffles me is, how you can live in a place like this-- nothing but dust and desolation,  surrounded by tenements, so far from gardens.”
            Murphy is quick to react.  “Gardens what?  Gardens nothing!  Sure we got ‘em!  We got an urban garden!”
            Her reposeful face carefully registers a puzzled expression.
            “Just look outa the window!  Whaddaya see?”
            She peers.  “No gardens.  No foliage, even.  Just flat asphalt and cracked sidewalks.”
            “Egg-zack-ly!   Cracked sidewalks!  And whaddaya see growin up through the cracks?”
            “Just … weeds….”
            “’Weeds’… Look, I know, you got your garden, got your azaleas, whatever, then these uninvited guys start dropping by, crowding your ‘zaleas out, you call them ‘weeds’.  That’s fine;  I get that.  But when all you got is cracked sidewalks, and asphalt baking in the heat, then whatever can push its funky head up outa that crack, and grow green -- that’s no weed, sister, that’s a miracle.”
            Murphy glared, and stared out the window.  And the blessings he poured down upon those weeds, were like a fierce firehose of love.

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