a daily breath
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Mondays are just young Fridays
We spend many a day seeking the quiet only clarity permits.
Until then it is noise. Not all of it is negative, simply unbalanced (perhaps undeserved), but necessary to help find our way through the bewildering inconvenience.
How will you unburden yourself?
Will you wrangle with the mendacities of the mind in isolation, seek counsel from family and friends, or will an outsider’s opinion provide the fulcrum you need.
You won’t know until you ask, and there is no shame in doing so.
We are all human.
© 2026 j.g. lewis
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the will or the way
Does your off-book time allow you to stretch your legs, open your curiosity, or even passively plan on your next significant step?
Or, at the end of the working day, are you listless, parched of inspiration, and can’t find the will or the way for your personal creativity?
Intentions rarely take flight against the backdraft of lassitude or pallid attempts at productivity forced on us by our working lives. And the heat of these days continues its way, corrupting any opportunity of enjoyment.
Are you stifled by yesterday and fear this day may amount to even less?
It’s Friday. The weekend will soon be upon us.
Maybe today any expectations can be minimized.
Go with the flow rather than push back; let time pass as effortlessly as you can. Don’t let the workplace frustrations spill into the next few days.
Perhaps then you can find time, and the incentive, you have been looking for.
© 2026 j.g. lewis
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Mondays are just young Fridays
Green beans continue an almost magical journey up the trellis. More tomatoes appear on the vine each day, and I’ve become fascinated with the red pepper blossoms in anticipation of my first crop of the vegetable.
The rhubarb will soon be ready for a pie (and I’ve been tinkering in my head with the recipe for a side dish). Already I’ve tasted some of the results from our herb patch.
The Rudbeckia have just begun to flower, the first crop of what I envision being a sizeable patch of Black-eyed Susan providing annual colour to the front yard. One lily appeared this week; there should have been more, but the inner-city deer have been using my front flower bed as a salad bar of sorts. All the hydrangea buds were also nibbled up weeks ago.
A group of shrubs were unexpectedly planted in a kidney-shaped patch on the front lawn I hadn’t intended on establishing until next year. There was a great deal at the garden centre, so my plans were moved up.
Yes, my garden is becoming an obsession. Each morning, even in the rain, I wander around the yard and check up on its progress. Each day reveals something wonderful.
I’ve not gardened in decades. Living in a condo in downtown Toronto these past years, there was only space for select plants on the terrace. Even before that, life left such little time for a garden.
Last spring, as we settled into our new home in Winnipeg (and its not really fitting to call a 125-year-old bungalow “new”) I spent days building raised planters throughout the yard. We also fiound spots for annuals and perennials along the edge. The front flower bed remains a work in progress.
Gardening is still very much a process of trial and error. So far, I’ve got better results with my tomatoes this year after building a secluded space for them to grow. Last year, the wide-open tomato crop was mainly devastated by chipmunks and squirrels who nibbled the bottoms off just about every piece of fruit.
I took a lot more care this year.
A garden requires care.
A garden becomes something to care about.
© 2026 j.g. lewis
