TO GARDEN

At a time when it felt like nothing was growing in my life,

And like dark, rich soil, some great potential resided inside,

I made my first garden.

When I’m ready for something fresh and new,

But I’m still unsure of what or how to,

I look to my garden to give me those cues.

When certain parts of who I am serve me no more,

When I’m ready to change out the old without knowing what’s in store,

I throw my scraps in the compost bin, and listen.

When I seem to be floating from one one thing to another,

Not feeling connection to my work or others,

I dig into last year’s compost, and spread it on the garden.

When I’m lacking inspiration or fun in my days,

It becomes the choosing of vegetables or flowers I crave,

And so I plant those seeds indeed.

When life just gets to feel like too much, and inevitably it does,

And I haven’t yet met the tears I need or pause,

I get outside and I water, or I watch as the rain does.

When I get those bursts of visions and creativity,

And it’s all bursting forth like the Sun and morning birdsong activity,

I speak to my garden, spend time singing its wild beauty.

When obligations and responsibilities

Seem to be infiltrating my space, my love, my time,

Without reason or rhyme, I get weeding around what counts.

When the kids, the dogs seem out of line,

I train the trajectory of my grapevine,

And under its shade I find all the right ways to answer the challenge.

When I must hold the sorrows of my friends and family,

It’s like I hear the hummingbirds and honeybees calling,

So I lay out variety of flower and seed and they continue coming.

When peace takes over me,

Or I feel tired and beat in my body,

I lie in the garden staring up at my sunflowers as their faces follow the Sun.

And then when the strength I’ve built up,

Needs a shape and is looking to fill that cup,

I move rocks into the sculptures and pathways of the garden they are a part of.

And when my life feels full and at its best,

I get out my scissors for that special harvest.

The garden is flowing and giving and ripe.

I gingerly hold each lettuce leaf and strawberry,

And I make each snip gratefully,

Like the Great Artist in the sky is blessing through me.

I build salads, bouquets, and fortifying meals.

From the garden lives all the energy I need.

All that I’ve channeled into what is good and beautiful and free.

I savor each leaf, each bite, savoury and sweet,

Taste the life I’ve given to daily, weekly, monthly,

Like it’s the first and last beat of a great symphony.

And like the joys of our lives,

The work of our gardens will always be calling

For nutrients, for company, for weeding, for seeding.

And in return,

Our grass will be greener.

Gifts of beauty and bounty, peace and all that is lively

Will overflow into our kitchens and hearts and community.

Indeed, my garden extends beyond every fence,

And when I walk in other landscapes, I’m pulled into their dance.

Again and again,

I share my hands.

In a garden,

I see me, the world,

And every bliss and every worry.

I see that we are always growing.

Truly, there’s no greater joy

Than tending

To that garden.