When
life unsettled and
sapped my spirit,
I sought solace in nature
and labored outside.
Head bowed,
I filled
shiny, metal troughs
and weathered, clay pots
with dark, loamy soil,
sunk fingers in deeply,
smelled the good dirt,
carried concrete blocks
to raise smaller pots,
filled them with seeds,
watered, waited, watched,
and wondered,
what would grow.
In time,
with tending,
green shoots emerged,
my soul steadied,
and together
spirit and garden
strengthened and
faced the sun.
Not about a single event, the poem describes an ongoing relationship between me and my small garden. Work in the garden is not a “one and done”. It is a process of energy exchanges between me and the plants I try to grow that give back to me as much, or more, as what I give to them.
