The Garden At Grandma's

The Garden at Grandma’s The house is quiet, the chores are all done. We have gathered in the place out back. There is pit for a small fire, a place to sit around. Chairs of various sizes, arranged not by size, power or status, but random-whimsical design. Flowers of every color line the edges. The bees hum. Butterflies dance. All are welcome. There are cookies. There is punch. No one is judged here. You are allowed to be silly. Whim is not by choice, but intention. If you bring colors to paint, bring the whole tray… (and spare brushes…we can paint rocks if canvas is missing) If you bring a book to write, haul the big one in… (we long to hear your words) If music is your passion, let us all be ready to sing… (together) Play on my friend! A poem, a story, a song, a memory, share something. Give life to words and deeds historically lost. This is the place, grandma’s… let go of your imagination, embrace your dreams.