My onions have taken a beating in the dry heat of the last week but they look beautiful in my vases. They bring to mind the old words of songs Dad used to sing when I cried because I ran so hard to keep up with my brothers who were 5 and 7 years older. His reminder song went, "I'm the only little petunia in the onion patch, the onion patch, the onion patch. I am the only little petunia in the onion patch, boo hoo hoo." As an adult I realize I don't relate so much to frilly petunias. I am more of a flavorful onion, making new songs with bulbs and blossoms and looking for wonder in every new track.
And when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.
-- Rabindranath Tagore