Walks in the Garden
Walking through
the garden
in late evening
when the sun
slides behind
the hills and
its rays
spill over
highlighting
small slits of gold
in patterns
across the ground
transports me
back across
the years touching
each summer
leading up to now,
planting seeds
and weeding
and watching
and waiting.
I carefully place
my feet between
the rows of
cabbages
and kale,
onions
and beets
and basil.
Breathing in the
sweetness of
tilled dirt
and growing plants,
the cool air heavy
with dew, I soak in
those moments
with my feet
on the earth
and my head
playing memories
stretched across
my days.
2 thoughts on "Walks in the Garden"
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Lovely, thank you. I miss my garden.
I’ve been thinking about how your skinny lines make fit your poems, the way this one is “stretched” across the page so I slow down and “soak” up each word.