Phineas wished, for the two-thousand-three-hundred-and-twenty-third time, that he had a different name. His father was in the army, and the family moved fairly often. No, unfairly often. There was ... [+]
It begins in the back garden. ripping up weeds against resistance like being 8 years old again, fighting and pulling at someone's hair. getting tired and going at them with a rake instead, and then a spade to break the final roots. grabbing up handfuls and throwing them at the wall, like sneezing holding playing cards. In the kitchen I take the paper and tear it. pour out seeds; raw wildflower. planting wilderness; and I'm aware of the irony, but I don't need anything which takes making an effort. just something to toss out and forget about until it sprouts in all color. they look tiny