I slowly shake off the gloom of the last couple of days. Maybe it was the one-two combination punch of Wednesday night’s movie, Stigmata, with Thursday’s time spent pruning roses. Nothing straightens out a person’s thinking quite like the pluck of a rose thorn.
I should say that this in no way implies that my bleeding hands have anything to do with some secret, divine message. If I’m bleeding, it’s only because I’m a careless gardener.
And if you are searching for god by way of Google, and your soul has arrived here as part of your religious pilgrimage, I apologize. But then, pilgrimages have always been difficult and bumpy journeys, and any diligent soul searcher knows that the occasional sideshow will often appear alongside the path.