In My Garden

 

The nature spirits worked with me

in my garden. As I crawled up

and down the rows, weeding,
fat brown rabbit

hopping along beside me, nibbling,

I'd whisper "pretty, pretty!"

to encourage the tender shoots. 

That garden grew so lush, showering

fruit and vegetables of every kind:

platters of watermelon, canteloupe,

strawberries, grapes, to feed

my leggy, hungry children.

Squash and zuchinni, peas, beets

and carrots: up and down the rows

we went, collecting nature's bounty
for supper, in late afternoon.

Early mornings, I loved the slow

swish-swish-swish of the sprinkler,

its wide arc showering droplets

onto the thirsty plants below.

It wasn't Findhorn's Garden, but 

it came close. It seemed a miracle

that so much growth could come

of tiny seeds, and sun and water -

with the blessing of the nature spirits,

turning our world green.

for earthweal, where the challenge is to honour an element of the commons we live in. Brendan's essay, which mentions Findhorn, took me back to my gardening days, the years when I and my kids and the world were young.