Nothing is doing.

August 2025

This is the time in Mid-Atlantic gardens when things begin to care for themselves. The roots are deep, the watering steady, and the harvest arrives in quiet abundance. The garden, once so needy, now stands on its own. And the gardener is left wondering, “what now”?

Some will move quickly into the next season, clearing beds and sowing seeds for fall. Others will busy their hands with preservation - canning, drying, pickling summer’s memory into jars.

But me? I will do nothing.

In parts of Italy and France, August is a sacred time for stillness and stepping away. Doors close, cities slow, people retreat. It’s a cultural pause we might learn from, a rhythm that values rest not as a reward, but as a right. 

We’ve been taught that unrelenting work is noble, that rest must be earned. But perhaps, like the garden, we too need seasons of quiet. Of pulling back. Of tending to nothing but ourselves.

My soil is rich. My social battery is low. And so, I’ll sit in the sun and let things be.