Around 4 A.M., I awoke with this lovely dream:

An April morning, cloud wisps sweep the sun, breezes gentle my white hair, in need of another trim. I’ve just finished planting marigolds across the front of the high-rise where I live, pulled off my muddy gloves, and stepped back to appreciate my work. A neighbor approached me, her arms carrying a wicker basket filled with daffodils. She told me of the flourishing garden, nearby, that volunteers had converted from a neglected corner lot. Anyone was welcome to help themselves.

That it is April in my psyche heartens me, given January’s lingering grays and the dregs of winter still to drink. Morning suggests opportunities for fresh beginnings with tangles of roots to unravel for new sprouting.

The high-rise suggests apartness from others; some days, even isolation, given my present circumstances, as I live alone; its city location and its busyness, understood from the context of the dream.

The planting marigolds speaks of meaningful activities that have engaged me during my prolonged illness. Before the changes in my health, such riotous colors had brightened the bungalow where I still live.

But most interesting is the neighbor, unknown from reality. Her inextinguishable greening stirred my grief for omni-present trashed environs; attracted volunteers to dig up the blighted lot, nearby, and pull apart its overgrowth; tended seeds pregnant with life until thriving with fresh colors; then freely offered this produce to passersby. This neighbor speaks of Mother Earth and her desire that we love her—Perhaps plant a vegetable garden or put out bird feeders. Experience her helpfulness. See how we can change.