Draped in a daffodil yellow shawl Tonya comes walking down the path from the woods towards the house, carefully carrying a goblet with both hands. "You're carrying a cup of sun!" I greet her.
"No, it's river water," she tells me, as though carrying a goblet of river water back to the house is the most normal thing in the world.
It's a perfectly clear and sunny morning, the sky blue and high above us. A day to bottle for posterity. I ask if I can take her picture carrying the river water. We talk about the birds, the pond, and gardening, her passion. It is she who has planted the bleeding hearts in front.
"I wanted to put one plant by the Buddha," she tells me, "because it is a symbol for Christ. I like the mixing of the two dogmas," she says. "They seem to resonate with each other." And indeed the bleeding heart she planted by the Buddha is four times as large as the other bleeding hearts she planted in the same garden.
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