Sometimes I head into the garden thinking the project will be putting seedlings in the ground or weeding out all the invasive grasses, but instead I focus on the movement of the mustard, or the fallen poppy petals, the bluebird fledglings, or the cardinal beating himself up against the mirrors on our car. I am impressed by the ingenuity of the weeds and the generosity of the natural world. I am embarrassed by how weedy my fenced plot is. I will not show it to you, but I gather blossoms and shoots, peas and dandelions. I am full of intentions, artistic visions, and forgiveness.

Let the subject be
the movement of the goldenrod, the mustard,
the cardinal, the jay, the generosity.

I don’t want anything,
not even to show it to you—

the beak grass, bottlebrush, dandelion seed head, 
parachute and crown,
all the intention of wishes, forgiveness,

this day’s singular existence in time,
the native field flourishing selfishly, only for itself.

–Ada Limon, excerpt from The Rewilding, in Bright Dead Things, Milkweed Editions, 2015