Her Garden

Her garden, in retrospect…

Once an elixir, a passion

tended from cutting and seed.

She now bends to its release.

Surrounds of stacked stone

enmeshed in ivy’s blue-green,

tendrils tenaciously cling entwined,

outlining life’s disarray,

when a moment unexpectedly

took her away

from her flowers and her soil.

Jagged-edged weeds and the

choke of astilbe profusion

meander in puzzles of rocky paths, dew infused,

leading her to unknown places and life to relearn

in solitude sans embrace.

Arching pines enhance, tall and sheltering,

soft needled, sap laden

as antique roses caress

climbing above peony’s pink

gracing the confines of this feminine creation.

The work of her once patient hands

Nature’s demons now devour.

Cushions of angel haired herbs

season liriope triangles,

spider-like beneath lilac spires and hosta variegation.

A latticed bench stands empty

gathering moss upon its weathered teak,

a place where lovers should be stealing kisses

to an engagement of columbine, forget-me-nots,

and bleeding hearts.

Bold corners burgeon with hydrangea’s pristine whiteness

and bridal veil’s rivaling lace

dangling in pendulous balance as life,

amid delicate flowered cones

and rich green leaves,

endures in absencia.

Grassy waves ramble soft and wet under foot

While an angel dips toes in placid waters

awaiting ruffled feathers splashing, sundial timed,

in a perennial spa

as warm afternoon commingles with evening

and chipmunks play hide and seek with the butterflies

amid shade of phlox umbrellas and innocent daisy clusters.

All once an inspiration, an addiction

every species on the tip of her tongue…

a dawn to dusk ritual of self-indulgence

lies now in nature’s mercy,

beneath the tender’s  wistful eye,

abandoned as daylilies bore seed

and sedum flowered, now a tangle

in anticipation of tomorrow’s hope

washed in yesterday’s tears.

Iris tubers multiplied,

purple lambs-ear carpeted,

fuzzily blanketing the rich earth.

Freshly bathed birds borrowed ragged snippets ,

nested in the thorny bramble

and nibbled pyracantha berries while

perched above  black-eyed Susan’s choking mass

preparing for another day.

As did she, until

life unintentionally took her away

to other gardens and needs to tend.

But her seeds and roots remain with her;

they will blossom again.

Taylor Ryan

April 2007