If you follow me on instagram, you'll have seen these words already.
we didn't grow up with potted plants.
our virginia yard swelled with the wild, post-swampy overgrowth -- towering trees and white-barked trees, magenta floral bushes, wet moss, and the millions of fireflies, butterflies, and birds this humid clime seduced. my parents permitted the yard to run amok in its own wildness -- there is a lesson there -- but in many ways, permitted there lives to run a similar course.
wild things ran rampant, for better of worse, and this -- this incidental freedom, not nurturing -- was the law of all living things.
i can look back, and in some ways, be grateful for this lack of attention. would i have read so many books, nested in the highest tree boughs in the yard, would i have written? i don't know. all i can say for certain is the line is precarious, and inconstant, and lovely, and living is a bit like dancing back and forth above it.