The first time I stepped outside in my prosthesis, I nearly blew over.
On the hardest days, I wondered whether my roots would ever survive in this new soil.
At Mile Marker 2266, I'm hit by another gust.
This time it's an uneventful day. I'm just crossing Sansom Street to check on my Healing Garden at Jefferson Hospital. That's when I step off the curb into a wind tunnel, the kind that whips down narrow streets and between tall buildings. (If you live in the city, you know what I mean!)
After a while, she asks if she can take home a plant from my garden. “I’ll take good care of it,” she promises. “I’ll name it Jefferson.”
Carefully, I drizzle the remaining water into it. Then I carry it over to the woman by the door.
“Did you know this is related to a rubber tree plant?” she asks me.
I have always loved Thanksgiving. Four years ago, it passed me by while I was in the hospital, and it seems I'm still making up for lost time.
|Last year's crew!|
With a whole lot of nurturing, my roots took hold. And for that, I'll always be THANKFUL. Now it's harvest time! What surplus do I have? What capacities to share?
I'm ready to GIVE.
And it turns out, I've got quite a bounty.