Too Much

A neighbor brought her friend to stroll through my spring garden, which is at its flower-ful peak right now. Her friend looked very uncomfortable. “This is so much work,” she said, as she looked around for the nearest exit.

My neighbor extolled the daffodils. I led them to my bed of Dutchmen’s breeches. “Look!” I love these little white wildflowers

The friend looked trapped. “I am not inspired,” she said. “This is so much work.”

Paradise is right here. Even in the midst of unpleasantness. Can you find even a thread of happiness despite the outer conditions of “this is way too much work”?

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