Let me tell you a story.

You know the first bits, or most of them anyway. There was a tarot card reader. There was serendipitous friend making. There was a long distance introduction. There were many (many) emails. There was swapping of photos (and much analysing of them). There was the big Meeting in Person. There were two great weeks worthy of a Hollywood-esque vignette of the young(ish) lovers walking hand-in-hand. With sunsets. And laughter. Possibly twirling by a fountain. (There most certainly was a great love song soundtrack playing over the top, the camera lens misty at the edges.)

There has been happy (in a complex, realistic way) ever after.

While I was convinced from almost the first email that I had discovered my One True Love, what I didn't know was that the discovery is ongoing. Perhaps it is commonplace to say this, but it is amazing to me.

One of the great gifts of this house, this town, this time, has been watching my cerebral, absent-minded professor of a husband, open outwards to see more of the world around us. Where once there was a man preoccupied by solving the worst evils of the world, there is now also a gardener, a lover of bees, a creator of safe havens, a teacher of the gentle art of paying attention to all the life around us.

He credits me with introducing him to gardening. But it is he who has taught me that all bugs matter, that the little brown birds are just as wonderful as the showy red ones, that watching things grow is not like watching paint dry but like watching an absolute and utter miracle.

This garden has given us some of the best tasting tomatoes (pr. tom-mah-toes) on the planet. But it has also given us great joy. The least of which has been my great pleasure in watching my biophilic (one of his favourite words) love become ever more enchanted with the life around us.

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