Healing Garden

You left the garden in a mess. Strange thing for a gardener. But they say those with trades leave their own home last on the list. I remember rolling up my sleeves. On my knees rolling like a carpet the grass covered paths. Between six raised beds. And the shed full of discarded things. Paint boxes, boat engines, strimmer cord, trailing ivy and electrical items that no longer carried a spark. In the dark of my broken dreams it seems the garden wanted to heal. I toiled and sweated in a blissful state. Pulling weeds as if in prayer. Uncovering tree roots along giant rocks. The resulting bounty now reflect those tears I shed. In their center they carry the memory of my hurt. Their beauty bringing a smile. 06/05/2019