Some things are very therapeutic. Like pulling weeds in the garden.
Forget gardening gloves, trowels, forks. Just get in there with your bare hands and rip the weeds out.
Clods of earth fly as I grit my teeth. Little bugs run. Birds fly down to have a look.
It’s raining a bit but I don’t mind – makes everything much more fresh and earthy.
I feel like a farmer. Or a pioneer.
Maybe I’m an artist, clearing the canvas for the flowers to grow.
Why don’t they recommend weeding for stress and anxiety?
There is nothing like clearing a patch of land for planting. The earth crumbles beneath my fingers like cake.
I can picture already how it will look. The new life in the garden. Making the day pretty. Already my mind has cleared.
Dirt under the fingernails.
Much cheaper than therapy.