We are all gardens:
Bright flowers blossoming ‘midst
a sea of green leaves;
fertile soils feed us,
hold us firm, deeply rooted,
fenced against the wind;
the summer rains come,
soft droplets gently falling,
a cleansing, made pure;
Beauty, hidden in
earth, budding outward, to bloom,
to blossom, restored.
We are all gardens:
Bright flowers, deeply rooted,
cleansed, restored, renewed.
Some days, most days,
the windmills are just windmills,
their giant sails turning to grind
wheat
to flour to make our daily bread,
nourishing the bodies of mankind and industry;
but then, there are those days
when the windmills, enchanted,
raise
their giant arms for combat, to face
down
the hard-fought battle of an old
man’s dreams
set free by age and rage and
Rosinante
carries us forward, enchanted
ourselves,
against a madness of men accepting
life’s as it is,
bleak and unbearable, men’s murderous
ways to man,
and dreaming now our impossible
dreams, tilting
at those windmills, shattering the
mirror of reality
that would blind us to what should
be, to who we are,
but knights-errant seeking truth, righting
wrongs,
a gauntlet tossed and the challenge
bravely taken, a banner unfurled.
I like yellow flowers,
spring’s daffodils trumpeting
and the upturned bell of a tulip,
dandelions even, a yellow paintbrush
and butter cups, newly arrived,
yellow reflecting back the sun
on a cloudy day, the gift of light,
of life
and hope for an old world seeking
peace,
seeking enlightenment and finding
answers
in a yellow flower reflecting back
ourselves.
Mouse sits on her front porch
beneath the oak tree,
reading, waiting for us, her teacups
and cakes close by,
and a fresh pot of tea ready to
share when we drop in
to catch up on The Glen’s news or to
hear a story told,
a tale of the woodland creatures
living there,
lives we imagine, lives we’d like
to live
tucked safely into this corner of
our imaginations,
a reality to return to when the
world grows cold
and angry, madness abounding, and feeling
alone,
needing time away, we return to The
Glen, a spot of tea
and cake and a story, a tale told
by Mouse or Rabbit,
The Glen come to life while the
world turns ever onward.
