der garten von januar trauer

Music: The Antlers: Hospice (2009)

After two deep freezes this deathly scene was inevitable. The "veritable jungle," as my German neighbor says, was bound to die. And die it did. I couldn't bear to photograph the aftermath a few weeks ago. It depressed me coming home every day. I spied the pansies at Home Depot, but I couldn't betray my beloveds. Today I snipped and lugged. I pruned and chucked. I did, however, snap some shots of it after I managed to prune and clear the detritus today. I took the photos shortly after I learned that yet another uncle is in intensive care tonight.

I know so many of us---so many reading this---have family suffering from cancer. At this point in my life, it seems like cancer is to be expected; if we don't have it, someone we know will. It touches all of our lives eventually. It seems so ubiquitous. From the passing of Sonny in my teens (my Scoutmaster), to my grandfather who passed the year of my birth, to . . . well, if I start this list I won't stop writing. The disease effing sucks. If we need to choose a target for our hate, it should be diseases like cancer.

As I was clearing things out this afternoon, I mused one could see all these empty pots as forlorn. Or one could see this as earth's estrus, so many pots awaiting their bulbs. I hope to be able, one day, to see the empty as waiting, not simply a void. Regardless, the garden pales in comparison to last August.

Hope is waiting.

Hope waits.