flowers.jpgThe fistful of cuttings from my organic garden (herbs, sorghum, daisy-like Jerusalem artichoke flowers), stuffed in a wine bottle I cut, cast a shadow across the garage floor as I was getting ready to leave to interview my 87-year-old farmer friend who is temporarily grounded. I stood there mesmerized, looking at it, thinking about the shadow we each cast and the people we affect who fall within it. About how I am in the shadow of my friend. About how he’s teaching me and how I must then carry that light forward, casting my own shadow.


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