it is still July but the season has changed
and rabbits have had their way with my garden
raping and pillaging as they went
a castle over run
and I am left a distressed damsel
after the dragon has lost interest
and flown away
leaving only singed bones
of caladiums and daisies
such is a fairy tale from a summer afternoon
when the air has softened
and summers heat has turned down a notch
and the only dragons in the garden
fly on gossamer wings
schooling thru the soon to be autumn
air
There is something to be said
for gardens neat and tidy,
pruned rows of charming box,
lilies, straight and proper,
tiers of trimmed trees,
all standing at attention-
a symmetry of geometry.
But, for me, I’ll take a garden rampant with green-
ferns astilbe mums roses lilies dianthus hollyhocks coreopsis violets
with a few bindweed and clover and poison ivy too-
moneywort overtaking the gravel path,
cheek by jowl to the lemon thyme,
columbine gone to seed,
and foxglove hiding behind the iris blades,
hostas shading the damn rabbits,
birds alight everywhere,
filling the air with color and song.
This is my garden, my delight,
my beautiful chaotic Eden.
A beautiful afternoon is always more beautiful in an April garden. The columbines are putting on a colorful display in such wonderful combinations. A blue is blooming, lots of mauve and lavender, a few frilly white blooms and many double blossoms again this year. Our favorite is a small salmon and yellow bloom on a tall slender plant- a wild columbine from seeds we harvested on a walk a few years ago.
My large hosta, for some reason, (probably chipmunks!) has not returned. I dug where the roots should be and no sign at all. That may be one purchase I will make this year – a few hostas to fill in the center of the garden.
Our baby dogwoods are growing with abandon – and we had 18 blooms across the three largest trees this year! Yea! We will move a few of the trees out into the yard this fall. And the two redbuds will be moved to flank the western edge of the garden.
Big fat bumblebees were very busy working across the garden and making their acquaintance with each bloom.
This weekend, we will head to the garden center for lots of flowers and plants to fill the pots for the patio. Then all that is left to do is enjoy the beauty. And water and fertilize and deadhead and weed and weed and weed.
Green is the color of April-
pale green of tender shoots,
deeper shade across the heart shaped leaves,
sprinkled with petals of all flowers
on the path of the dancing honey bee.
Dear Sir,
Or should I say-
To Whom It May Concern,
(does anyone use ‘whom’ anymore?)
(And are you really all that concerned?)
I appreciate your kind-
no, thoughtful-
no, condescending-
epistle
letter
note,
that you must have spent agonizing hours-
a few minutes-
a second-
to construct.
I have considered your tempting (not really)
offer
and have decided
to answer-
ignore-
shred
all evidence of this important-
valuable-
ridiculous-
matter.
And instead,
I shall take my straw hat and gloves,
whistle for the dog,
and he and I will spend the afternoon
in the garden
visiting with the bleeding hearts and columbine
and writing love letters to the bees.
Yours Truly,
In Like a Lion
It seems that the rotation of the earth
speeds up and
gravity is loosened just a bit
as the gusts pull
at everything standing.
The creaks and moans
of the buffeted trees
carry across the ridge
with flying leaves
from swaying blackjack oaks.
Whips of forsythia
slice yellow over their heads
while the daffodils
hold onto their bonnets
and small birds hide
in the pollen sugared cedars.
birds alight low on the evergreen boughs
calling & singing
as I fill the feeders-
the air is feather light
with the sound of wings & the dawning sun
The garden rests under a blanket of fallen leaves-
tidy in its untidiness-
slumbering until the March trumpet calls
raising the winters dead
to spring life
once again.
What vast endurance
must these tiny creatures brave-
such grace
and nimbleness in flight.
Aerial dancers, swift and light,
embellished gems
of emerald and rubies in their wings-
crucial feathers, dignified
by alloyed gold and steel.
How do these trembling hearts
force fire
into wing and bone,
hollow and mercurial?
Enhanced essence of air
streamed from nectar of flowers
elegance equaling
the energy expended.
What formulae of geometry and physics
can prove these creatures?
What wing,
what heart,
what soul?
*** Our hummingbirds, that have graced our yard with their presence all spring and summer, are leaving for their winter homes in Central America. I took one feeder down today to wash and store for the arrival of next Aprils guests. The other 2 feeders will stay up for a few more weeks. I always like to leave at least one feeder out- just in case there is a slow poke heading south that needs a rest and a little snack for the trip.
The light has lost its harsh intensity.
Earth’s tilt has nudged the sun
into an angle
less summer
and more autumn.
Setting the changing leaves
into a different hue
perfect for the falls rubies
and gold.
Walking the gravel path
on this last summers evening,
we talk in low voices
so as not to disturb the flowers
and the butterflies, busy
with their own seasons changes.
I am anxious to shed this summer-
its days long
and its light, too intrusive.
Autumn will cool my brow
and give my weary eyes rest
until I can sleep in winters
long dark night.
thecourseofourseasons 