Someone said, Don’t.

Someone said, You’ll do too much.

Someone said You’ll re-injure your foot.

Someone said, Take a load off. Sit in the sun and read.

But a nice neighbor said, I noticed your garden. If you want some help raking it out, I’m here.

That set me off. My garden did indeed need raking, and when I dug under the dry, sun-baked surface of the leaves, I found things that made me glad to be up on my feet.

Forgotten carrots from last summer, baby nuggets that survived this harsh winter in all their delicacy.

A necklace of new strawberry plants I hadn’t noticed before, hidden as they were in the verdancy of the herb garden.

Spearmint. I won’t dignify the overgrown rascal with a photo, but got to give it props for its muscular thriving. Mint will inherit the earth when we’re gone, I’m sure of it.

And the pinks, fluffy and greening up with just a hint of silver.

I tousled their tops for luck, then leaned my rake against a stump and headed to the Cabin to rest my foot. I had accomplished half. The rest wasn’t going anywhere.