I'd ignored the garden <br />while you were mending. <br />Even thought of moving <br />somewhere smaller... <br /> <br />Hardly felt the scorch <br />of summer's heat - <br />(except during the firestorm) <br />and Monet's autumn palette <br />lay unnoticed. <br /> <br />But as winter wrapped the house in mist <br />and you sat once more <br />in the driver's seat of your recovery, <br />I donned my Redbacks* and gloves, <br />and began on the onion-weed. <br /> <br />What an earthy way to scratch the creative itch! <br />What a perfect blend of violence and nurturing. <br />What a singular chance to grunt and strain, <br />to coax and cajole <br />again and again. <br /> <br />As time and order grow, <br />so I become more ruthless, <br />attacking fatter and fatter branches; <br />Till the woodpile doubles and trebles in size <br />and my face is flaming. <br /> <br />Now spring blossoms, <br />and I walk on new paths, <br />breathing change into my lungs. <br />The familiar star of anticipation <br />twinkles within me. <br /> <br />Today is raining <br />and yesterday's camellias <br />are settling happily into their new homes. <br /> <br />I wonder what tomorrow will bring. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />*A brand of workboots made in Australia.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dirt-under-the-fingernails/
