Summer Days

In summer, my whole back yard

was a garden. Early morning, the swish-swish-swish

of the sprinkler, turning round and round,

was a sweet song of nurture,
love in every seed I sowed.

Neighbours hung over the fence and said

"The nature spirits love her.

Look how lush her garden grows!"

The garden fed my hungry children

and healed my broken heart.

   Back then, wise folk warned us

     there were poisons in our food,
pollutants in the land and sea, 

  but we were too bemused
 to comprehend,
   lulled by materialism
      into disconnection
from the earth
 in days we thought
would never end.

      (If you want to feel connected,

       sow a garden. Watch it grow,

       inch by inch and row on row.)

            The garden we planted then,

            when we were full of hope,
     and young,

           we are harvesting now,

         in floods and flames,
            our dreams a nightmare
       just begun.

for Sarah at earthweal, where we are contemplating Lammas, the harvesting of grains and turning them into bread.