|Running over the chocolate mint.|
Can you see how i get myself into this feeling of ill-will?
1) i resist what is happening: a truck with firewood.
2) i believe the word "herb garden." In true truth, it's an ever-changing patch of dirt. As soon as i give it a label, i create a concept, which i can then believe. The world becomes dualistic--this? or that? If it's an herb garden, then it can't or shouldn't be a driveway. But, in fact, both are happening.
Our woodshed is filled to the brim with firewood for the winter. The chocolate mint, the onions, the thyme have survived.
|The kale stays out of the way of those tires.|