Timing By Beth Konkoski I am not good soil for anything these days. And I remember reading that seeds must not be planted within two weeks of a waxing moon or they will tunnel away and rot. What nonsense, common sense, sixth sense gives us such beliefs? Never plant on the thirty-first of any month, do not wear white after Labor Day and water pansies only at six a.m. If you wake at six ten, leave them dry I suppose, since timing it seems is everything. Trees cut or laundry hung to dry will fester in a waxing moon, but it’s good luck to weed, mow, harvest and kill pests in that same fourth quarter. What hidden pulse beneath bedrock and soil aligns us like lovers with the moon? What we observe becomes what we believe. What we believe becomes what we pass on. Such timing may not be everything, but it may be one thing or some thing. It probably isn’t nothing. Perhaps in the next moon, if I work out the timing I will not send everything scattering out before me, out of reach, out of time, without nourishment or a plan.