The texture of a thorny stem, scent and color too.
Rocks do not alone arrange themselves in oval shapes.
We who lift the stones to place them so can traipse
Among the blades of grass and know the way of water
Soaking earth, on any given rainy day, does matter.
A garden suggests order.
Patterns of loose stone encircle plants,
Form walkways that may enchant,
Invite a soul to meditate,
Compel a spirit to contemplate
Simple things like worms, or bees, or love.
Quite out of character one might even stop to pray
For power to grow, to bloom, or sail for one more day,
For understanding life's mysterious conditions,
Or that the garden might provide new inspiration.
A garden is enriched by Earth's own past,
Fertilized by things not meant to last.
Wanderers hope for longer growing seasons,
Ignoring how things end, for other reasons.
