Le Notre and I are busy. He walks around my yard, leaning on the gold-headed cane gifted him by Louis XIV, and commands me to prune and pick up and plant. I love it when he visits. It’s that time of year, when my yard becomes a siren, and I lured to toil. It’s good to put one’s hands in soil, to dig and rake and straighten. To put a seed down. Seeds are the epitome of hope. I need hope in these days of my aging. It’s my botox.
-
available through:
Amazon
Borders
Barnes & Noble
available through:
Amazon
Borders
Barnes & Noble
available through:
Amazon
Borders
Barnes & Noble
available through:
Amazon
Borders
Barnes & Noble
Karleen Koen — writing life 
Your gift of words is my botox…. how I appreciate every jewel of every paragraph! However brief your blurbs may be, my spirit is always nourished & refreshed. I thank God for Karleen Koen. jmm
Thanks, Jan……..
Beautiful words which made me targeting towards some hope… I do feel the same as your saying in your last sentence “days of my aging”… Could be that plants and seeds may be a kind of renewal for aging ladies :). Enjoy your day and all the best from France. If I happen to pass by Mr. Le Nôtre, I will tell him I saw his name on the internet :). Cheers!
It’s four in the morning – a quiet time – and your entry brightens the darkness around me. janmerritt’s response speaks for me too (except that botox part)