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L A U R I E ' S    G A R D E N

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,
- 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,
- 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,
- 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

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