Angel's Garden
"When one touches the earth, one feels more alive," she says. And then she goes to the kitchen and makes tea. She comes out minutes later carrying a tray. Baby pink roses, various leaves float inside the carafe. We talk about many things. The mountain air. Corn coffee. Basking in the moonlight in the rocking chair at midnight. Talking to God, the Universe, the angels. The cold that runs deep to the bones. Family. The intricacies of relationships of a parent to child. Friends. How we need only few. Only the necessary. The expectations to act in a certain way in a culture where outward appearances are overvalued. And the blatant determination to remain true to oneself. We talked about food. How she loves growing and making it. How we would love to eat it soon. How she does not mind the tediousness of preparation and cooking. Tedious, in fact is not in her vocabulary. But passion is. So is joy. These two are inseparable it seems. We talk about Yolanda. How being s