August 23, 2019 •
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The Garden

Gardening is about moments.

The holy moment when seed sprouts leaves and begins to feel its way to sun.

When red dagger peony stems break frozen free and arc toward future fragrance.

Fading always, something alive

And living always, something fading.

And these come to tell us who we are.

 

Blowing leaves and trimming grass are weekly heard, rarely observed.

But buds bursting,

fungus creeping

blight stalking,

bugs chewing,

mites and rust and drought and freeze

these enemies I fight daily for the glory of one blossom; For one tree on a clear day, shining gold and singing.

 

Those who pay loud men to tend

You, I pity.

Bringing to red ripeness one single fruit, Inhaling one silver sage Rewards beyond time toil freed.

 

In the planting I embody life.

In the death of all green I am the chill of the grave to which all go.

 

There is some new company

where you pay men money to mix your ashes with a sapling or young tree for planting.

Why pay more?

Our bones too will roll to roots.

Our hair, nails, skin and sighs will be wrapped in the earth.

And yet

We live on in the flowing of what is and shall ever be till the end of the world.

 

The sterile shrubs illuminated

will keep their secrets from you.

But take one packet

plant

warm

tend

water

transplant

plant

beam

bloom

cut

enjoy

smell

fret

watch

fade

bury

and you will sense the Mind which made us of earth, and the place that you have in this world and in the World to Come.

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