My foot is stuck in a garden.
Not just any garden—one carved into the skin and bone of you, where wildflowers curl over your bruised toes and a golden path winds past your ankle to a domed pavilion no bigger than a thimble. I had to laugh at the absurdity. Of course I’d find myself here, motionless, the past blooming like moss between the cracks.
I used to call it my “mojo”—that spark of reckless courage that took me far from home, chasing art, freedom, and a life no one else could imagine. But then came the decision: stay by my mother’s hospital bed, or take the residency in Florence. One choice offered love and guilt. The other, purpose and guilt.
I stayed.
Years later, I feel her hand in every petal on my foot. My garden is both tribute and trap. The tiny man carved in gold, walking that spiral staircase, never reaches the temple. I imagine he’s still deciding.
So am I.
But this morning, I shifted. A root broke. I felt the earth loosen. Maybe mojo isn’t about going—it’s about knowing when you’re ready to move again.
Even if your foot has flowers growing from it.
About the Creator
Diane Foster
I’m a professional writer, proofreader, and all-round online entrepreneur, UK. I’m married to a rock star who had his long-awaited liver transplant in August 2025.
When not working, you’ll find me with a glass of wine, immersed in poetry.
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Comments (4)
Evocatively real, the choices we make & the effect they have on the rest of our lives.
This is some deep stuff. The idea of a garden on your foot is really creative. It makes me think about the tough choices we all face. You talk about choosing between love/guilt and purpose/guilt. I've had similar decisions where no matter what I chose, there was some kind of sacrifice. It makes you wonder if there's ever a truly guilt-free choice. And that thought about mojo changing... that's something to chew on.
God, this was gorgeously written.
That image...and then the tour with your words you took me on was just delightfully bonkers whilst also feeling like sharing a confidence.