what I'm telling you is Yes Yes Yes

Gardens are also good places to sulk. You pass beds of spiky voodoo lilies    and trip over the roots    of a sweet gum tree,    in search of medieval    plants whose leaves,    when they drop off    turn into birds if they fall on land, and colored carp if they    plop into water. Suddenly the archetypal    human desire for peace    with every other species    wells up in you. The lion    and the lamb cuddling up. The snake and the snail, kissing. Even the prick of the thistle,    queen of the weeds, revives    your secret belief in perpetual spring, your faith that for every hurt    there is a leaf to cure it.

Gardens are also good places to sulk. You pass beds of spiky voodoo lilies    and trip over the roots    of a sweet gum tree,    in search of medieval    plants whose leaves,    when they drop off    turn into birds if they fall on land, and colored carp if they    plop into water. Suddenly the archetypal    human desire for peace    with every other species    wells up in you. The lion    and the lamb cuddling up. The snake and the snail, kissing. Even the prick of the thistle,    queen of the weeds, revives    your secret belief in perpetual spring, your faith that for every hurt    there is a leaf to cure it.