Zen garden

Today was a tough day at work.  Sometime I love my job, but today, not so much.  And as I am driving, a few hundred miles away from my home and family, I find myself wishing that I was in the garden, kneeling in the damp earth, plucking out weeds like an overly aggressive brow threader at my salon.  I can feel the satisfaction of feeling the roots give way and release from the dirt in an overgrown thready chain.  And I think about how, yesterday, I was peering over my neatly formed rows and saw the first tiny shoots breaking through the soil.  That's yellow corn and Blue Lake green beans.  And a few tiny strawberries losing the white petals from their bloom.  There is nothing like anticipation.
About that time, I am passing through this tiny town in Southwest Georgia called Ellaville.  I don't think that there is any particularly special about this place.  But there are all these cute little garden homes seemingly freshly painted white.  Azalea bushes overflow in each yard making giant splashes of jewel toned color.  The sky is blue; I can smell jasmine.  And all is good in the world again.
There is nothing like a little nature to remind me . . .  well, it doesn't remind me of anything.  But it allows me to forget the rest of the world and find a little peace.