Walking at dusk a couple of days ago in the suburban Louisiana neighborhood where I reside, I came upon a sign. No, not an ethereal sign but a sturdy sign stuck into a mound of earth perhaps six feet high. The sign read: Free Dirt.

What a gift! I'd been thinking of mounding dirt at the base of a couple of fragile trees in our yard, to help insulate and nourish the roots. Here it was, dirt for the taking.

I walked home, fetched my shiny steel pail and a hand spade, and returned to the hill of dirt. Six trips, six buckets of dirt later, the job was complete.

I'm not a gardener, yet I'm learning that plants respond to gentle attention of almost any kind. And I'm grateful for the neighbor's gift.

Now, it's 5:21 AM, just before dawn. It's dark out and the streetlights make bright yellow globes in the fog.