We’re free to cultivate it or to leave it fallow. I haven’t cultivated my orchard, my garden, my imperfect metaphor. For a long time I was angry at my body. But maybe my body should be the one resenting me. Untended gardens should have the right to blame deleterious gardeners. I didn’t protect mine from the elements. I’ve deprived it of sun. I’ve deprived it of heat. I’ve also deprived it of water and the steel of my will. If my body is an orchard, maybe I’m the weed. And to think that I could have been a flower …
