Morning Star

A baby flower Yellow grass. Abundant weeds. Dying flowers. For the past seven years, I have tried getting use to this sight as I looked at our convent grounds. None of us had any skills or time for the garden and have let things be. Which meant we had more weeds than grass in our yard. Which meant the hardy mini-roses survived and the other flowers shriveled in the Texas heat. Which meant we chopped down three trees as they slowly went to their death. I wondered how my dad maintained our green yard back home in Sacramento. I wondered how he planted 9 varieties of vegetables and 4 different kinds of fruit trees. I wondered how he found the time to pluck weeds, change oil for three cars, and finish books cover-to-cover. After seven years, I could not get use to the sight of yellow grass, luxuriant weeds, and dying flowers. I decided to head out. Into the garden. Which is "geard" in Old English. Meaning enclosure. Gardens, by definition, are enclosed an

First Amaryllis of this May! "What is it?" Dao asked me. "It's an amaryllis," I answered. She gazed doubtfully upon the slender plain stems poking out of the pot. "It's a flower?" she asked slowly. "Yes.  I know you don't see any leaves on it and the bud is quite flat, but it's a flower." I reassured her. I had just come home from Our Mother of Perpetual Help Parish and my arms were full of gifts. Candy, snacks, fried shrimp, lotion, with knick knacks.  And the amaryllis. All from catechists who wanted to spoil me and my community for Christmas. The amaryllis peeked out from the tall gift bag. According to Greek mythology, Amaryllis was a shy shepherdess who fell deeply in love with Alteo, a shepherd with the strength of Hercules and the beauty of Apollo.  Her affections were not returned and she hoped to win his heart by giving him what held his attention:  flowers.  Following the instructions of the oracle of De