To Maggie, nothing made her feel closer to God than this moment in the dawn. The air was fresher, the light soft and glowing as if filtering through stained glass, and the sounds of the birds assured her that she was alive. The scent of rosemary, basil and wild lavender wafted on the breeze. Maggie was happiest in her garden. It was her little wonderland, although there was really nothing small about it: the pumpkins and watermelons sprawled out beyond the rabbit fence. She bent over to squeeze some of the basil, releasing a burst of scent. Her back groaned slightly as she stood up and stretched it. At seventy-two, she had no complaints except a tired body. A smile tugged at her lips as she admired the tomato plants, growing so well. She’d have to get Toni to truss them up soon. Before long they’d be making their own sundried tomatoes. Eating fresh from the land was one of life’s pleasures for Maggie. If the world fell apart tomorrow, they’d survive, just as they always had.
