The Theft of Beauty

Last week in the city of Boston, a theft was committed.  No one was physically injured, and it wasn’t reported to the police.  Most would call it a victimless crime, and the perpetrator probably had good intentions.  Furthermore, even if the offender could be caught, the case would never see the inside of a courtroom, because, well. . .

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Living Seasonally

There is a packet of nasturtium seeds in the junk drawer in my kitchen.  Early in the morning or late at night, when the house is quiet, I can hear them calling out to me.  Their voices are soft, but powerful; they speak of growth, potential, and the glories of a long, golden summer.  They want to be planted—to stretch their roots and reach for the sky.  The only problem is, it hasn’t been time yet.  As I am in the occasional habit of speaking to inanimate things I respond, telling them as much.  They just won’t listen.

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