It’s late. Not a smidgen of my plans for writing work the past two days has come about. All manner of family needs and opportunities have kept me busy. I take it all as God’s plans. I found this previous post from 2010, which put a smile on my face. It is an example of paying attention. That’s where stories–all creativity–comes from, the simple and delightful act of paying attention.
I was traveling down a major boulevard in Mobile in our six passenger Dodge pickup. I love to drive that truck. Apparently one can take the cowgirl out of Oklahoma but not every piece of the cowgirl out of the girl.
Anyway, I happened to spy a garden nursery, the small independent sort I have been hankering after. I had the truck, there was the nursery, obviously serendipity. I whipped in with thoughts of shrubs and who knew what all that I could fit in the truck bed.
I instantly saw it was an eclectic sort of place. So much so that I had to assume about a front door. I found I had chosen rightly, and as I passed through, a man in thick overalls was going out. We smiled and nodded at each other. I said, “How are you today?” And he said, really he did, “Better now…
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