Overheard— “Yeah, this old lady lived there forever. Her garden was incredible. Like, you would stop on the sidewalk to look at it. Then she died. There was some sort of problem with the house. I don’t know. But these crack-heads moved in and it took, like, fifteen years to get them out. By then, the garden was ruined.”

I wonder— Did her garden offer a respite, a brief solace, a minute of uncomplicated pleasure, to anyone? Did someone notice the daffodils peek up from the soil in the spring, stare deep into the heart of a rhododendron, or watch a bee gather pollen? Did the scent of lilac help someone sleep? Did anyone look out to the yard through that cracked bedroom window, see a bud or a bloom or a leaf and wonder, if only for a second, how am I connected to all of this life?