July 20, 2010
The steps going up the hill behind the house disappear into a bramble of black raspberry bushes and then into dense undergrowth. The hillside has gone wild. It is metaphor for that part of my life, the part that might take care of the hillside, but which is just as curious to see what will become of it left go wild. It is a copy of a garden from some book I read years ago, one that I remember only distantly, and one that I am now grown too old and large to enter myself. It is a child’s garden.