This afternoon I helped my sister plant a small, yellow, winter jasmine bush. It was beautiful weather--the sun was shining, there was a slight breeze, and it was just cool enough that I didn't get all sweaty from digging a hole. There's something that feels very significant about planting things. Participating in the circle of life and all that. It's also relatively easy, with an immediate reward. After probably twenty minutes, we were able to step back and see the results of our work. Nowadays I don't grub around in the dirt as much as I once did, and I was reminded today of how satisfying it can be. My hands, covered in dried Carolina clay, looked like elephants' skin. My muscles felt loose. And the jasmine bush looks very pretty.
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