I'm out of control. I didn't mean to be. 

I've spent my life cutting, pruning, weeding, mowing, planting, feeding, watering

My ideas and ambitions and sometimes

Your ideas and ambitions.

But today, I'm out of control.

I'm surrendering the hoe, the rake, the spade.

I'm sitting here noticing that life grows by itself

(it doesn't need me to confine or manicure its abundance)

Restriction has been my modus operandi.

Straight edges. Formal planting.

But, this morning, I'm ignoring the call of the Hoover, the emails, the leaky tap.

I'm sitting in the garden drinking tea and wallowing in love for the baby birds and their mothers twittering and fluttering around the feeder, and the seagull parading along the ridge of the roof, placing his feet so precisely and so delicately, surverying the scene, looking for some breakfast. I'm out of control, and suddenly a tsunami of possibilities enters my day and carries me laughing and squealing through the hours. Vigilance disappears. The lens widens.