The Edge of the Garden is the Edge of the World

The edge of the garden is the edge of the world.
Life fades through winter’s cold,
Grey stone and bones.
The silence is disturbed by chirping birds.
Sit still long enough and they learn to be unafraid,
Like the ants who won’t discriminate
Between the earth and my skin.
They’ll even bite,
Because size is no deterrent to their fight.
They don’t believe they won’t win.
 
Gnarled and naked branches reach up
To seize the heavy laden sky.
I can’t see life here on the surface of the sights.
But I know it is here, dormant,
Or moving so slowly – imperceptibly.
It will erupt, spectacular,
It will be bold and brilliant.
 

This garden does not feel impatient for the flowers,

It knows the seasons
And it will have its moment,
So it waits for it.
The earth immovable, but always moving.
The edge of the garden is the edge of the world.

 

7 July 2012