June's Promise

 

Stepping out my door on a June morning,
the pots overflowing with snapdragons and petunias
welcome me,

and I look to the gardens beyond.

All this was worth it, I think.
All the work of the last four years,
digging, planting,
replanting, weeding,
moving plants around until they were happy.
All the physical and mental work
of making a garden was worth it.

Like the stream that meanders through a pasture,
I wander the garden paths,

catching the peony's scent 
and the breeze's whisper on my cheek.
Beardtongue sways with the bumblebees
and honey bees feed
in the comfrey and the catmint.
Beebalm stands at attention, a landing pad for fireflies
and the sweetspire and arrowwood are in bloom,
taking their turns in the garden's long offering
of provision.

Catbirds nest in the hazelnut,
chattering all the while.
House wrens chortle in the blackhaw
and titmice and Carolina wrens belt out
dueling variations on the same tune.
Barn and tree swallows twitter overhead
and ruby-throats zip from columbine to coral bells.
Green frogs glunk in the pond 
while baby bunnies sit still as statues in the grass.

I did not create this garden.
I set the plants in the ground
and they took it from there.
Plants are promiscuous beings, 
spreading their progeny where they will.
Creatures are the the recipients 
of this generous smorgasbord.
It was planted with them in mind.