Adelaide B. Shaw

Going Solo

Gardening today and we are up early. Summer annuals, three dozen (give or take a few. I’ve lost count), await in their small, utilitarian containers to be transplanted into larger, decorative containers in the patio. It’s quiet here. There is never much road traffic in front, and neighbors are at a distance and rarely heard. On one side are tall privet hedges, on the other, a wide grassy slope, and in the back, a wooded ravine, home to  birds, chipmunks, squirrels, and deer.

The plants are an array of colors: orange marigolds, pink and white begonias, red geraniums, purple petunias, multi-colored zinnias. We fill the planters with potting soil, add water, work it in. Choose which plants to go where. Combine different plants in one container or keep them separate? We differ and have a coffee break. As happens every year, there are enough plants and containers to please us both.

By the time the noon whistle blows we are finished. The flowers are in the planters, tools put away and patio swept, table and chairs and umbrella brought out from the garage. We stand back and admire our own bit of Eden.

promises
of forever and ever
know not reality
but only youth’s springtime
when love is in bloom

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About the Author

Adelaide B. Shaw lives in Somers, NY  She has been creating Japanese poetic forms for fifty years. Her books, An Unknown Road and The Distance I’ve Come, are available on Amazon. She posts published work on her White Petals Blog.