A Morning Blessing
In morning sunlight
in early winter
when hills are browning,
with mindful breath she breathes the wind
with sacred song she woos the waters
and begs the trees and the Spirit within
bless the beasts, she whispers
the possums, porcupines, woodchucks,
the birds and bugs and worms,
bears and bobcats
gorillas and fish,
and also, humans.
Bless the plants
who in winter store holy life
in their roots
and bring it forth as
new growth in the spring.
May all beings live their lives
free from turmoil
may the Earth be always blessed
©photo and poem by caf
The Gardener Talks about the Gardener
“My young gardener comes weekly
to spread mulch,
clean up winter’s mess.
He bends easily, shoveling, filling,
the large wheel barrow.
The dirt flies when he comes to work, I tell you.
Time was, I could shovel all day
and go to bed at night
thinking about digging some more in the morning.
(Now my back rebels when I pick up a trowel,
and I rejoice when I can stop
to sit after weeding a bit.)
I listen to his stories,
trying to keep up with his
quick, graceful movements
but, really, I’m hoping it’s close to lunch
or even quitting time.
One more load of weeds and you’ll
have to wheel me back to the shed.
But we do have a commonality this young gardener and me.
We both have grubby hands and fingernails,
our pants are stained with earth and grass,
and we have a deep love for what we have accomplished,
for how peaceful the shade garden is,
how the mulch adds a coolness to the rock garden,
and how we work so well together as a team
the young gardener and me, an aging woman.”