A Spring Collage

Some Sweet Honesty

a few Windflowers

a stray Tulip

the Bridal Wreath

and the beautiful Quince blossoms

all combined to make the garden a lovely

place to linger.

I am waiting for the Philadelphia Orange

to cast its

 sweet scent

down the side pathway.

It is hard to stay indoors these days....

My nails are dirt crusted and jagged

but my soul is at peace

as I tidy and dig!

Here's a little poem

from May Sarton

whose writing I once kept beside our bed

when we lived on 10th, and

which I must look for again........

"True gardeners cannot bear a glove

Between the sure touch and the tender root,

Must  let their hands grow knotted as they move

With a rough sensitivity about

Under the the earth, between the rock and shoot,

Never to bruise or wound the hidden fruit.

And so I watched my mother's hands grow scarred

She, who could heal the wounded plant or friend

With the same vulnerable yet rigorous love;

I minded once to see her beauty gnarled,

But now her truth is given me to live,

As I learn for myself we must be hard

To move among the tender with an open hand,

And to stay sensitive up to the end

Pay with some toughness for a gentle world."

gardens I have known and loved.