I never do much in Luba's garden, except for deadheading petunias and working on the roses a little. And she doesn't ask. But today I decided to ask her if I could help. Actually, I was in bed reading when she came home from work and she saw that I had been lazing around doing nothing but being depressed all day. And so she took me by the hand and brought me outside. She set up a chair in the garden and said "sit here!"
I sat there for a while, trying to read my book, The Hanged Man’s Song, the book I had steered Alina away from and felt obliged to read. Frankly, it’s what I thought it was, maybe worse, a tough macho detective story with a lot of foul language.
Luba went to work in the strawberry patch, and I was bored with the book. I asked if I could help, and she let me, and I did. We worked for over an hour, cutting back the strawberries and cleaning that part of the garden. She was grateful for the help, and I felt better doing something useful. Always the best therapy.
So it was that I worked off some of my gloom and doom. I worked up a good sweat, had dirt under my fingernails, and felt better than I had all day. It's when I am still that I miss Loren the most, at night, when the sound of silence saddens and I’m with darkness, my old friend.
It's better when I am busy, and no one knows that better than Luba.
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