She plants flowers wherever she goes, whether her stay is three years, three months, or three weeks.
Time is money, timing is everything, and time is of the essence.
It is what she does and who she is – a cement gardener of hope, a patch nurturer of dreams.
Petunias precede evictions, impatiens bloom longer than the lease, marigolds are left behind with old curtains.
She may eat stale peanut butter right out of the jar.
She may turn trash into treasure to stave off bill collectors.
But the luxury of seeds is an obsession and art.
For she is an infidel connoisseur of vigorous life, with a high priority for setting down roots…and I like to think she is simply fostering fragrant memories well in advance.
Copyright 2009
Donna Dakota in Word 
Hi Donna:
Just wanted you to know that this one really speaks to me, especially the last line.
Ginny
Dear Ginny:
I thought of you when I wrote that piece. I’m a horrible gardener but was very impressed with the stuff you have been writing and that planted the seed (no pun intended). Always grateful for your feedback, Ginny.
Donna