do not tend

do not tend to the garden, it is tending to itself, there is sun, and there is dirt, and things are growing there. many different things are growing there, green things, happy things. there is photosynthesis in the garden! the garden, the garden, the garden! miraculous nature! treats among mankind! spending its own time among root rot and insects, spider webs and worms. how could it need you there? or me, for that matter? how could it need anyone to be around? if it grows long enough and loud enough there would be no reason for a hoe, a scythe, a shovel, what would be the point, then? just to sit in the middle of it looking up and over, redwood trees are still growing, growing still. growing, growing, growing! the birds are over head. do you see them? can you see them? they are there, chirping as loudly as ever. sometimes cooing, sometimes moaning. how silly! how cute! a garden unattended to and growing, faster still, growing growing no cutting - heaven sent! what a garden, with nothing to do but what doing must be done. what, in reality, must be, and cannot not be done, as growing does, as growing should do. as it must.