Lights of The Night

The brush of darkness
paints shadows in the garden.

Stars not seen in weeks
remain hidden amongst clouds.

Needing reassurance this night
these eyes search for a sign.

A spark high in the maple tree
draws me eyes upwards.

Smiling I glance about
High, low, to the left, to the right.

There you are Light of the Night
I found you, faith now restored.

Fond childhood memories of hot summer nights following these wee creatures flood me mind. Over fences, thru hedges, never knowing where next they would sparkle and always amazed when their wee bums would light up just for us. “Find me, if you can” they signaled and we did for hours. To this day I search for them and when I see that sparkle I rest assured knowing other munchkins are playing Hide and Seek with the Lights of the Night.

Soggy Bottom

Suppose to be Summer with sunshine and heat but Mother Nature changed her mind. Every day I catch meself singing, “rain, rain, go away, come again another day”. Though the landscape is lush, gardens are suffering. Begonias molding, Lantanas fading, Maples rotting and aphids thrive. Ugggghhh.

As I puttered about in the garden between showers I spotted o so familiar footie prints in the damp soil. Tracking them thru wavering ferns, around large leafed hostas, I finally found their owner. He was curled up on a bed of moss, soft and plump from the rain sheltered under the ole Lilac.

Not wanting to disturb him I stepped back and huddled in amongst the Princes Feather. I sat what seemed like an eternity and waited watching his chest rising and falling with every breath. The poor wee soul was tired. His trousers worn, shirt was torn as if he had run for his life thru a raspberry patch. Scratches on his arms and face showed he did his best defending himself from whatever the hunter was. But now he was safe and I believed he knew it.

I became occupied swatting at skidders. Those blood sucking monsters that thrive in this climate even though I remind the froggies daily it is their duty to invite them to supper. Note to self: follow up with a memo. Me eyes may be failing but these ears will never and they perked as a faint ummmm reached them.

Glancing around to focus on the wee creature I smiled. He was stretching and sitting straight up, his eyes soaking in the surroundings.

“Well hello there” I softly spoke.

He blinked, his weathered face furrowing deeper.

“Tis ok, you’re safe here, there’s no need to worry”

Still looking about he mumbled something I’m not quite sure of but I did understand the affection. He was confused, scared and abit out of sorts. His eyes darted from me to the trees, back to me and then to the garden growth.

“Hmmmm, you haven’t a name we both understand but I shall call you Soggy Bottom. You’ve been lying on the damp moss long enough you’re quite soaked thru and needless to say your bottom is rather soggy.”

Did he agree ? That I don’t know for as soon as the words were out of me mouth he was up, and running. Droplets flying from his clothes as he scurried thru the Monarda, grabbing onto the Honeysuckle vine and up and over the fence.

I sighed but after a wee bit of pondering it grew into a smile. Soggy Bottom will return and he will meet Twinkle Bottom who no doubt will show him how to sparkle. After all two bottoms are better then none :)

Following you, following me

Following you, following me
thru long grass we run
leaving down trodden paths
so we may never lose each other

Following me, following you
hearts beating as one
as our lives intertwine
with each other

Following you, following me
your sky, my sky
azure blue et brilliant sun
warming each other

Following me, following you
darkness twinkles her lights
illuminating our sky
shining on each other

Following you, following me
forever and a day
there is peace within our souls
knowing we are each other

Ode To A Rusty Screw

I neglected you over the years,
yes, I shamefully admit it
and express sadness over doing so.

You held fast, damn fast,
never wavering or weakening,
always holding strong during storms.

However, you must understand
there comes a time in a relationship
when one partner must let go.

Twas so hard but a decision
I had to make after all these years
and your time had come.

Why do you make this so difficult
fighting me with every twist,
with every turn this heart beats faster.

My arms ache from the strain
wrists are swollen, veins popping
as I ponder where is Tai Bo when I need him.

Must I enlist one known as WD40
for you resist my gentleness
which mean you no harm.

I vow you will never be tossed aside
your place of honour is waiting
safe from the elements.

Relax, rest your battle is over
O Rusty Screw, tis time
to retire a tad rusty but ever so trusty.

Why? This is why....

Why do I do it, year after year, I’m asked. I could flippantly say why not? But the answer grows deeper. It is in me blood, me name, under my fingernails. Seen in weathered laugh lines, freckles, scars. Heard in me crackling knees, the “o shites” , argghhhhs and sighs. Felt in this body seizing after a good days toil, heart felt thank you’s, and life nutured.

The “it” is gardening. I became one with the earth many moons ago mostly at me fathers side. Allowing me to turn up a perfect lawn and create carpets of colour. I’ve gardened with a fine ole English gentleman even though he was a tad anal making me use a ruler to plant his Marigolds. Each plant 8.5” apart, not 8 or 9 but exactly 8.5” I humoured him as his wife made the best homemade lemonade I’ve ever tasted. Thank you Mr. Stephenson. I gardened with a mad Irish Doctor, hell bent on testing me every time. Staking peas with branches, under planting corn with squash, not tests but lessons and well learned. The worst was hauling loads of wood thru the bull pasture, not in the contract but as stubborn as he was, I am more. Slainte Doc. More importantly, I learned from a grand ole gal Winnie. O she would shudder hearing her referred to as a gal. A proper English woman she thought she was but born here she wasn’t. I learned so much. The most bountiful Asparagus beds held the secret of salt and Iceland poppies. Who knew ?

I have bookcases of gardening books mostly purchased for the pictures. Hey I’m a visual person ! I can look at one and figure it out, no instructions needed just trial and error. That’s why I do “it”. There is something in me that enjoys a challenge. If I ponder deeply it is not so much as a challenge but more so tickling life from nothing. Much like an artist takes a blank canvas and with a few brushes and paint pots creates a master piece, I take a warm patch of earth and with a few seeds create me own.

This is me masterpiece. :)