Archives for posts with tag: Gardens

Some hands know the soil.
They know what to do with it.
They’re not fine hands, clean hands, they’re rough and thick fingered and calloused but they bring life out of the black and keep a kind of order on the land.
They give firm handshakes.
And hold grandchildren carefully like they hold a china tea cup or a fragile flower.

(For Bob, who knew the land and its people well, RIP).

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Paulownia blooms –
Littering the fresh cut lawn ~
Perhaps we’ll eat them.


The last melting snow –

Bulbs burst, their color not known ~

A new garden Spring. 



Cooler evenings –
Reduction in mosquitoes ~
Spider invasion.

Picking nasturtiums –
Little fingers too eager ~
Very grumpy bee.

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Painting ‘raptor’s skull –
Spot mistakes, so will redo ~
To songs of its kin.

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