The earth surfaces - dark, haggard,
ravaged by sun, wind and water,
full of thirst
- a pattern emerges
tan, copper, sable - tufts of green,
a jagged weave of spring. Rising with hope, the garden is me
Virgin daisies grace my field - wild,
anarchistically defiant,
innocent
- posing much like coquettes
prim, lovely, flirtatious - young girls
at a debutantes' ball. Dancing shyly, the garden is me
I see summer's passion - alive,
brimming with unruly desire,
splendid
- sunflowers rule the field
long, lush - pallet of greens and golds,
each one a stroke on my canvas. Drinking the light, the garden is me
Mauve petals caress my field - smooth,
delicate, gently creased by time,
still noble
- bowing to the twilight
calm, dignified, wise - grand dames each,
small treasures at summer's last dance. Softly sighing, the garden is me
Autumn grass lays fallow - pale, tired.
beaten by sun, wind and water,
colourless
- sprinkling of frost glimmers
bright, crystalline - string of diamonds,
refracting light as life recedes. Closing my eyes, the garden is me
Today the wind blows patterns - snow,
drifts like waves in the water,
circular rings
- each step breaks the surface
still, deep - a buried memory,
dormant beneath the frozen soil. Lifting my soul, the garden is me
