so i grabbed a blanket, my red hat, and went out back to the garden.

the noise in my head seemed screamingly
loud compared to the slience of the night.

i love this garden.
it is mine.
there are no clean lines
and no restrictions.
i allow the vines to wander where they want.
poppies live among the phlox and the bleeding hearts drop
their petals on the lambs ears.
you may find it unruly,
but i find it free.

i tend to it in my bare feet, using bare hands.
it feels familiar and it feels like home.

my garden has saved me again and again.

even at night, when i cant see a thing,
i can find calmness here.
and in time, the quiet that surrounds me
crawls inside and gives my head a rest.

i may spin
i may think too much
i may worry like an old woman ~

but i am good at knowing what it takes to return to center.