Through my eye

A sometimes caustic view of things.

Thursday, August 05, 2004

A poem to start with: The Garden Spirit

She began her transformation slowly
Always willowy her arms and legs
she covered in earth colors
wearing an old hat with wide brim
In the heat of tropical days
she worked her wild garden religiously
planting here and feeding there
and watering without regard to local laws
her seedlings and shrubbery more precious
than mere legalities
Over time her movements slowed
as her garden grew to sustain itself
in the heat and the droughts
and the occasional torrential downpour
One day a rain came
and she did not retreat indoors
She turned her face to the rain
and felt it imbue her being
Night came and she rested her hands
on the rich soil
digging into the ground
with her fingers
She kicked away her sandals
and spread her toes in the sweet mulch
Through the long warm night
she drew from the strength of the earth
and broke the shell of flesh
Days passed and no one came looking for her
Eventually a neighbor saw the profusion
of growth in the garden and came to admire
the wild and flowery tangle that nature
and hard work had built
In the heart of the garden was a curious shrub
longlimbed with multiple root systems
and varigated blooms of unusual beauty
An old hat lay near the main trunk
and shreds of clothing all about
but no woman
not bone or nail or tooth
only an exotic shrub with deep roots


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