The Garden Gate

There"s something about feeling the good rich earth    
Worked between your fingers again
As you plant or weed or reap    
Air warm beneath the morning sun  
The smell of growth alive on the breeze  
A bird stopping by to whortle  
Staring quizzically from the garden gate  
As you idly hum
Dry stacking stone for a border wall      
For that's just what a garden needs  
Stopping a moment to listen    
To the nearby buzz of a bee  
A barrow and bucket your traveling friends  
Tool handles worn from time and use  
From flowers to beans on poles  
Smiling to see a snail denied  
By broken egg shells that you've spread  
There's a world outside that stands more real  
For its a world of life  
Of cycles and seasons  
And soft spoken talks with one's own self  
Showing paths ahead more clearly  
While puttering with plants and pots  
Or shelling peas as you sit on the step  
With the basin on your knees  
Sometimes life feels good going slow  
Finding your place in the rains and the sun  
That you with your garden might grow