oh jules,
i didn’t have words yesterday
strange too because
words have been flowing
unbeckoned

maybe the wind took them
maybe they all fell asleep
maybe they ran to escape

yesterday,
with summer’s last gasp of a
storm threatening to
collide with winter’s arrival
i returned to the garden
beneath the most incredible
3D tempest of a sky

it’s been a while
i haven’t spent much time
here since august

she was unrecognizable
her terrain that had become
the landscape of my days
returned to uncharted space
i couldn’t find any landmarks to
remind me where there’d been
beans, where the corn had grown

it threw me back into april

stepping onto that patch of land
feeling hopeless about the weeds
even winter left behind
doubtful that anything would grow

oh jules, but things grew

because of and in spite of
all of our labour

gather

the word that you gifted me

i worry,
that i didn’t harvest the words
and memories and store them in time

the same worry that fretted over
lacy cucumber leaves and
tomato caterpillars

so last night, instead of words
on a page,
i tried to pull photos in an album

it felt like a 10th birthday party
pulling photos of baby’s first cake,
first crawl, first soccer game

i only made it to july
and then… sleep

but, april feels like a long time ago
in so many ways a blur
the days so much the same
and it doesn’t feel like much has changed

but spinning that camera roll

and standing in this barren patch of soil
i almost forget that anything grew here
at all

but there are these memories
stored in pixelated root cellars
and buckets in the basement

some testament that,
in fact, this garden saved our lives

it saved my life

there is still so much to be
gathered

and yet, it is already time to
plant again

winter rye to nourish the soil
that fed us

garlic cloves to ward off vampires
and remind us that the best of life
can thrive even in wintertime

and there’s still food for the taking
hip-high kale and fresh parsley
surprise broccoli,
the last tiny carrots,
and brussel sprouts for days.

oh, and jules, there are flowers
on the peas!
i am hopeful
but not
optimistic

(thank you for the reminder
the gift of gathering
has only just begun)