Planting

With only a week till my first packet of the term is due, I sat down and, not quite ready to start afresh, went back to the piece I started at the beginning of the program about arriving in the South and going home to watch my Grandma die. Ah. Reflection, compression -- where to cut, what to keep, what to add. Yes, I have learned something. And my grandmother is still with me, guiding my hand.
Somehow I have learned, too, to write in any circumstance -- children calling, TV blaring. I never thought I would be able to, but how we adapt, and with that adaptation evolve, of course. To grow and be actually aware of that growth, now that's a gift. And planting 100 bluebells with my family, and seeing my son whiz down the road on his new scooter, his own confidence finally coming, his enormous smile...