Lyrical Riffs I came across a gardener working on some rough ground. He was swinging a pick of sorts, turning the tough soul, making it accessible. He quietly sang to himself a tune full of grace. ‘I’m breaking up the ground,’ he said to me, ‘it takes a while and some work, but look…’ he opened his hand and I noticed two things. First it was full of new seeds, that he was no doubt intending to sow. But as I left him I was pondering the second thing. There was a deep scar in his palm. And that’s when I noticed that the pick he was using was an unusual one. It was shaped like a cross.
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