Gardens on the Moon

The afternoon sun is wafting through the towering oaks today with the gentle golden air it carries in winter. Already the scarlet quince is blooming and the peach trees are budding, and it is barely March. The winter days have blown through with cold, icy rains drenching the earth and overflowing the streets here in Austin. But still, the plants fight back and insist on not just surviving, but growing. They take every bit of sunlight and warmth and tuck it in. They hide the rainwater away for the summer droughts to come. And with the first balmy day, they spread their defiantly leafy branches and wave them joyously at the sky. That's what it takes to keep blooming.

I read recently that scientists are working on ways to plant gardens on the moon. They think that people will eventually want to live there, so they will need fresh food. Already the experts are learning that plants can take much more than they had thought. They can survive with reduced gravity. They can live with canned sunlight and no soil--only water. Plants can't even think, but they seem to know that their work is to grow and bloom. When they stop growing, they perish. But with their growing, they fill the earth with beauty and life. And soon, maybe, they may bring that life to the barren moon too.

It has been good to be so deep in the music, to follow its winding roots into the frozen earth. To take the winter rain and frigid air and turn it into something that is full of life. I can't wait to share it with you! Stay tuned ...