When everything is grey and coldRead More
and the world seems old and weary
is when everything changes.
While stepping onRead More
carefully placed stones
on an errand
in the garden
of my hours,
my eyes scour
either side of the path,
and winter chores
waiting for me.
Sometimes a surprise,
like strawberry flowers
It's raining and darkRead More
but the rooster is crowing
knowing the light will come.
There was a large moon
even waning it looked full
but now the rooster crows.
There will be light soon
the rain will fall everywhere
on the garden.
The plants will grow.
The rooster will crow.
Why don't people like roosters?
I love to hear the rooster crow.
I know he's being he
and I'm being me
and there will be light
because the rooster is crowing
knowing that the light will come.
My garden draws me into its minute detailsRead More
derails my attempts to prevail with straight lines
or orderly arrangements, continually demanding
my engagement. The weeds are overgrown into
the path again. The bees, butterflies, biting ants
demonstrate business just like me, finding
sustenance in the flowers until their last hours.
The dragon breathes her last gusts of fire into
the approaching winter. She will hibernate
with the first frost and I too will curl up and dream.
I searched for good dirt in the compost with my shovel.
I hoed two empty garden beds and made rows.
With my trowel I made holes for garlic bulbs in the beds,
and buried tulip and daffodil bulbs in my pots and kitchen boxes.
My cat is no help in the garden.
He doesn’t warn me when ants crawl up my pants.
He doesn’t know a weed from a seed.
He sleeps while I sweat and sweat.
He wants to play and I shoo him away
before he attacks me with his claws
and snaps his jaws.
My cat doesn’t love me.
He loves my hat.