Monday, 29 July 2013

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
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

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