My pots bore the corpses of last summer's annuals and milkweed competed with dandelions and thatch where there ought to be grass and my hoses sprawled in muddy tangles and our ground cover (cultivated from ivy sprigs out of Julie's yard, although she warned me against the idea) sneaked under the neighbor's fence and . . . .
In the film, Into Great Silence, a monk sweeps a monastery walkway. The seasons pass. He rakes leaves, shovels snow, and in the spring, he sweeps again. Doesn't suffer. Sweeps.
Lost in Great Noise, I suffer