Is it some inner knowing (from an ancient ‘gardener’ existence) or a forgotten passing on of wisdom (how could one forget such a sharing) that makes me, after prolonging the admiration of the surprise of a bed of lily of valley under the lilacs (oh, the delight of the first year in an old garden) and wishing to carry the scent and sight indoors – that makes me lean down and grasp, gently but firmly, the stalk just below the length of nodding, fragrant caps, and suggest, with not a tug but a steady pull, separation. A time must pass, not long, but definite. The pull does not increase but it does not, also, decrease. It is as if nature, human and plant, are engaged in a time of transition which must be honored. I don’t know if each time is absolute or if it varies. I do know that after a time the plant lets go and easily and smoothly and freely gives up the flowers and the stem slides complete from the hollow. I think we give a mutual sigh. Something has been understood. There is gratitude.