Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.
Marcel Proust, French Novelist
. . .
A sociable creature one mustn’t confine.
No treasure isle circled by blue arms of brine.
A lost lonesome island no human can be,
For landlocked we are by our own geography.
Deserted our souls, tired and thirsty become.
When starved of a gurgling affable hum.
The life-giving waters of rivers resound,
A friendly flow nurtures the dry dusty ground.
A particular Proust, the French novelist fine,
He champions a thought captured best by this line:
As does a gardener tend to his trade,
Pruning away at a green grassy glade,
A charming friend cares for blossoming soul,
They are the gardeners that make us whole.
. . .
~ Granville D. Austin
Did this make you wonder?
What did this make you notice, remember, question, or see differently?
If this reflection added a little light to your day, you're welcome to .