Dawn on West Center Street
The cats wake me up as soon as it's light during the summer, so I've gotten into the habit of feeding them and the parakeets, then taking a cup of coffee out to the garden. At 6 a.m., the neighborhood is just beginning to wake up; only the birds are already active. After I hang the parakeets' cage outside, I wander around the garden, listening to the calls of various wild birds (which the parakeets answer).
The garden is lovely that early in the morning, and I make my rounds, checking to see which vine needs to be staked up, which leaves should be pinched off, and which herbs and vegetables are ready to harvest.
Purple basil flourishes in pots, and the first tomatoes are almost ready to eat.
I don't subscribe to any particular religion, and I'm never sure what people mean, exactly, when they say they are "spiritual." If spiritual means feeling at peace and in sync with the natural world, then spiritual is what I am in the garden: humble and connected. A spider that I might quickly annihilate should it show up in the kitchen is welcome to go about its business in the garden. We are in shared space.
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