Walking in the garden for the last time
I wonder who will harvest and enjoy the potatoes
not yet ready to be unearthed.
Who will share in the juiciness of the raspberries not yet seasoned?
Who will pick and sample the apples growing so abundantly
on the ancient-looking trees?
Will it be left to the birds, and the caterpillars
and worms to enjoy these delicacies?
After twenty-five years of love and care
the owners are moving out and
it is not yet known
who will move in.
Will the new owners be gardeners?
Will they appreciate the work and devotion
that has maintained this garden over two and a half decades?
Will they know to leave the seed heads for the birds to feast on?
Will they sit on the bank on warm summer evenings
and recognise the variety of birdsong
and watch the sun sink behind the house?
This garden has been created and nurtured
through a generation,
allowing children to play and grow up and
fall out of trees that stand like ancient monuments;
allowing its owner to paint here
every day,
capturing the new life of crocus bulbs
and pear blossom.
Now it is to be left behind,
a secret garden that has no one
to whisper its secrets to,
a hidden oasis in the midst of
a bustling market town,
unknown to the shoppers and farmers who wander
on the other side of its walls.
Now it has been let go of,
been surrendered to the seasons and
the vagaries of unknown new owners.
And in the letting go
a new garden can begin to live elsewhere.
The beauty and nourishment palpable in this garden
does not come only from the trees and flowers and
sculptural thistles that tower above our heads,
but from the owners, whose
love and tenderness and patience and attention
have created this garden
and these attributes go with them
to be born again in
new earth,
with new plants and trees
and soon the birds will come and sing
and enjoy the feasts generously offered to them.
© 13 Jul 13
