I love to garden. I'm not quite sure why, maybe it's because getting down in the dirt triggers some distant memory of when I was a kid making mudpies. Maybe it's because I secretly crave power, and I find joy in controlling how much water or soil a plant gets. I could go on and on with possible reasons of why I enjoy it, but that's just me. I love to know what makes us all tick, and I constantly look for reasons as to why this or that happens, or why someone feels a certain way. But this morning, I find myself thinking along a different path. What if there is no 'reason' that I like to garden, what if some things just, are? Is that even possible? I'll probably never know, but for now I'd just like to think that I enjoy gardening not becuase of a memory or a power trip, but simply becuase I am me. Ya, I think I like the sound of that
In all things of natur there is something of the marvelous~Aristotle
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