Too Much Fun

For three days, surrounded by 2000 other word-lovers, I drank words.

By day two, in fact, I was dizzy with them.

I informed Facebook friends, that Calvin’s Festival of Faith and Writing was almost too much fun.

Yesterday, on the trip home, I eased my withdrawal by listening to Marilyn Robinson’s novel, Housekeeping, downloaded to my smartphone for me by my Michigan sister.

Kathy gave me Michigan perennials, too. They trailed me quietly to Iowa, crammed in my tiny trunk along with my hair-dryer, make-up, and business-casual costumes.

The book had more miles than the highways.

So, this morning, after slipping into faded pants and sweatshirt, I strapped on my phone.

Outdoors now in cracked rubber boots, I listen to the Marilynne and to my gardens.

I hear her luminous final chapters along my flower beds’ suggestions for Iowa homes for the Asiatic lily, the Angel Wing hosta, and the anonymous ground cover.

I have expected after the planting to uproot bald dandelions from the backyard beds, but the baby Quackgrass near driveway calls,

then the infant Creeping Jenny under mailbox,

and finally greying dandelions surrounding the front-yard lilac.

As I groom the gardens, alone with an April sun and a novel,

both burn brighter than three days of neon rooms amid the crowds.

This morning is even more fun,

But not too much fun.

The conference and the crowds were margaritas.

But, the garden and the book,

the listening and the looking,

are the water of life.