I live in a Boston suburb, not one of the suburbs which were on lockdown today, but next to one that was on lockdown. It has been a surreal day. Fifteen miles away the whole city of Boston and several surroundings towns were in the grips of a lockdown and a massive manhunt. People have been murdered. Firefights have erupted on streets I know well. With all this happening, on my way to a friend’s house early this morning I drove past the entrance to a local college and saw a man planting pansies. He knelt in the earth, hunched over his task, seemingly oblivious that the world next door had gone insane. Despite the fact that I could not rid my mind of the juxtaposition of the images on TV news with the image of the man planting pansies, I copied his diligence. With my world in lockdown I went into my garden to lose myself and attempt to expunge the images and knowledge of what was happening nearby. I planted close to two hundred perennials plugs. I weeded, watered, prepped soil, raked debris and other gardening chores. But I could not escape nor excise the knowledge of what has happened in Boston, and what is happening in Boston. Evil exists, and persists. I believe gardening is a great healer, but I believe today I discovered that gardening cannot heal all.