My garden boots are on. My new head scarf holds my head. It keeps my hair in place.
Sun protection is smeared on my face, trying to keep the liver spots away.
All my other skin is covered with wind- proof clothes.
The wind whips around as all the weeds await. They all have had a reprieve for too long.
The entropy of age is letting the garden go astray.
The garden has only me to guide it into a more ordered state.
I can’t neglect the place that has given me so much in return.
The red camellia is full of blooms that now are showing signs of age.
The big old lilac is holding up scented clusters, and has new growth at its feet.
The hellebores are consistently dependable, even though their neighbors need improvement.
The PJM rhododendron was one of the founding shrubs. Its flowers are calling my attention now.
The big eared pig I bought last year has weathered the winter well, and sits among dry stems and weeds.
The row of peonies along the fence are on their way, preparing for a late May show.
The pale pink honeysuckle still holds its ground against the obnoxious privet.
The laurel hedge around the deck needing pruning for it shows the wear and tear of winter.
The young fothergilla is a rather new addition. A slow grower that needs a patient gardener. Finally, it is putting on a little fan-fare.
The gurgling sound of the pond fountain is urging me on. “Take control”, it whispers.
movingforwardslowly 