10:04 am
February 19, 2011

It has been raining for a number of days.
The ground in the side garden is waterlogged.
Seeds would be good to put in,
but I have other things drawing my attention.

The whole landscape of the side garden has
shifted within a matter of days with lengthy cane
held down by fallen lumber bamboo creating
another garden identity.

There are hundreds of hours of work here
for another generation of youth.

I have enough on my hands to do
simply emptying crock pots, returning
pasture fed bones to the ground.

The two much rain has created a pool
of water in the potted alfalfa, and gratefully
the energy is with me to pull the containers
apart to allow seapage from the bottlom.

I would like to take my camera to this.

Even more, I feel the absence of the next generation
who could see hope and promise here
combining their new energy to the work at hand.

I am wanting to make sense of the burden
of too many things today,
but this moment of strange canyon life
birds cawing intermixing with the crist cold air
cleanses my head of stagnant unresolvable
lack of impossible movement.

What would it take to love up this jungle?
How many hands does the land call to it now?

Is this my job?

I am retiring
to a simply existence,
and my mere appreciation is plenty.

I have done my part
and perhaps left my mark somewhere.

dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
--my fingers are dozing at the keyboard,
time to rest.

Time to manage what I can tend.

10:15 am
February 19






 

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