Gone Gardening

I spent Saturday planting flowers. Snapdragons, pansies, violas, stocks, delphiniums. Five hours straight, friends. My flower beds look great, but every muscle in my body aches. I am bruised (wheelbarrow fell over on my leg) scratched (those nasty rose bushes got me good) rash (trimming the morning glory, I think) Soaked in epsom salts till I looked like a prune, and I still ache. It's a good ache, though. Feels good to get something done! Though it's never really done. Watering, trimming, weeding, feeding. Still, it's a labor of love, bruises, scratches and all. It's a lot like writing. After hours of sitting in front of the computer, digging around inside my characters head, I often come after feeling a bit bruised and definitely achy. Some times I have to dig deeper, and there are rocks and roots blocking my way. But I have to keep hacking away so I can get that one beautiful flower to grow. And when it does, there's just nothing like it. And then there's the next scene, the next chapter. The next book. Like gardening, it's never really done, but it doesn't matter. It's a labor of love.