Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

There is so much moss on my brick stairs it's trapping the rain like sponges, so this morning I scraped it off with a kitchen spatchala and there is more work to be done.  A friend said boiling water gets off the moss, and I'm going to try that this afternoon.  The moss is so beautiful that I've let it linger past danger, and I've got to get rid of it before it gets rid of me, by me slipping and falling.  I love all the vines and tiny plants that determinedly push up between the bricks.  It's charming, but eroding the mortar that keeps the bricks together.  I am a romantic at heart, and love the ivy covered walls when I spy them and the whole secret garden look.  I love overgrowth and jungle, but know it's unwise to let the fantasy run rampant.  Needless to say, I was in heaven living in Fiji, where it was a jungle to our front door:  orchids and banana trees and papayas and coconuts.  We could subsist on our property's bounty for days.  Of course, there, being on the wet side of the island, we never needed to water, only to hack away when plants got too overgrown.  I can't have that lush a garden here, as the dryness half the year makes that impossible, but right now, with the bulbs coming up, the trees about to blossom, and little independent plants popping up like gifts, I have the illusion, and will have, for a month or so longer.