Garden Time

The sun was warm,
I went out in it,
To do a garden job
For just a minute.

But time spent in the garden
Has a different measure,
Because each thing touched and seen
Feels like a new-found treasure.

And so I planned and pruned,
Swept up leaves, and dug;
Planted out some cuttings,
And watched a busy lady bug.

The minutes quick-marched into hours
As garden minutes do.
There’s no sense in trying to count them,
When the day is sunny, and the sky is blue.

Then when my back began to ache
I just took a little rest,
But soon got back to work because
Garden hours simply are the best!

{here are some pics from my garden, current and past flowers}

Gold medal 2017Gold Medal

Leila May 1Leila May

Purple and whiteHe loves me, he loves me not

Rhodo Misnamed close upDainty Alice

Just flowers (2)The Children’s Rose


West Coast, Tasmania, January 2016

Beneath the tall trees
far below on the forest floor,
lie branches fallen
from the giants sides,
lie bushes whose thirst
was never fully slaked,
lie strips of bark
discarded from the giants’ undressing,
and tall native grasses reaching up,
because they have felt for too long
the loss of falling rain.
While myriads of small creatures
raise ears and antenna
in sudden fear
of an unknown danger,
as they wonder which way to run.
Some ferns are still able
to lift hopeful fronds
as from the air they feel
the coming storm.

But the electrical impulses
that rise uncaring from the ground
to meet storm-laden air
only bring the Flash! and Crash!
of angry elements meeting,
as the creatures huddle in confusion
and the giants tremble in foreboding,

Lazily at first,
then with more intensity
Nature fans her work,
and we hear the destruction of the forest
in the warning cry, “Fire!”