Summer is at her height. In this part of California, that means the hills are baked and dried into a tawny gold. They look like lions sleeping in complete, twitch-free silence, disturbed only by the occasional earthquake. In the fields stretched out below, the salad crops busily grow, urged on by sprinklers and fertilizer and tractors zipping up and down the rows with their rows of cultivator blades.
Below my office window stands a wood-fenced corral that provides a border between a parking area and the fields beyond. The corral is full of flowers–statice, snap dragons, zinnias and roses–a sort of vegetative Switzerland amidst the hustle and bustle of more active farming. Past the corral, the first field has been listed up into rows, ready for celery transplant.
I don’t eat many flowers, other than the occasional artichoke (which, technically, is a thistle and not a flower), but their beauty does feed the soul. We need such food in our lives, whether it be flowers or Bach or a few quiet minutes leafing through reproductions of the masters. Man can’t live by bread alone.
Remember to take some time to feed your soul. You do have one, whether you believe so or not.