Life is an abundant thing -
in all ways,
the spoils are bountiful depending upon how you pay your Gods.
Down in the 'Hollow it comes with walking,
as moths flutter out of shelters from light
and I do the same,
take in the splendor of years on years of labouring.
She, sweet scabious, wafts on a soft,
morning glory opens - deep, plummy
She, Creeping Jenny, dresses the paths, with permission
as seeds scatter upon bare soil beds.
Swarms of crickets create a cacophony of sound -
echinops attracts late dwellers,
salvias engage night's shade
and I engage with you, as your living rests heavy against my living.
Globe artichokes create skeletons, promises of Summer's tiring.
A frog hops beyond the ponds safe bank,
and those crickets,
There's crow upon the aerial, her song echoes, wizened, so full of tales.
The die back is coming -
I see it
in the raspberry canes, the self heal, the chard,
I see it in the anemone, the blueberry, the hollyhocks,
I see it in the whole picture, setting in
hues of brown and grey
I am overwhelmingly grateful for this place,
in such wholeness,
in such life.
Written by ImperfectedStone
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