The Garden

A bubble-gum pink Rose is nodding to Herself

in the sunlight outside my window

having drunk Her full of early  morning tea of dewdrops and mist

She sways sleepily

dreaming

The Oak Tree

stands proudly full of birds

now and again sending an acorn thudding down to the grass

where Ants are busy, always busy

carrying a bug carcass away to their winter pantry

like a miniature Olympic relay team working hard together

The Garden is a family

of all shapes and sizes

chirping, foraging,

and croaking in the pond

some rooted

some flying

some working

some dying

but all intertwined in the Story

If only Humans played nicely and accepted their role

and their time to briefly shine

knowing there is growing

and then going

peacefully on

if only we accepted gracefully our part in the Story

instead of our arrogance in thinking we are the whole book

They closed our eyes 

you see

cut the connection to our angels and guides

leaving a chasm gaping wide

which They fill with Want and Fear

and so the little human ants scurry off to church every Sunday

the one day they try to be good and live as They tell us we should

and every other day

stuff their greedy little paws

with more and more

and MORE

forgetting just to watch

the dreaming Roses

They don’t tell us you know

that if we were to go

into the Garden at Midnight

our hearts would be healed

They don’t tell us because they cannot charge a fortune for this

it’s free

though probably soon

some greedy fool will bottle it and sell it as Therapy

I know

and the Rose knows

that soft rain on our heads

is better than my old Friend a bottle of Vodka

and the Oak Tree laughs down

and says if I could put my feet where his roots grow

I would really know

but I have to inform him

I am no fan of mud squishing between my toes

though I did try it once in the interest of healing

I laugh

and the Oak Tree laughs

and the Rose knows

                 by Christine Jordaan 2012, Mom's Garden