Passion

I have another passion apart from poetry. It's my garden, left by the gardener. In a state of wilderness. Two years later, with tools in hand. I've made it into a wonderland. Take my tea out each morning at eight. Feed Pushcat from a plate. Peace and contentment always come to me, as soon as I am sitting under a tree. With a book and a beer, or a glass of wine. Breathing slows down, lose track of time.` In front of the house, six raised beds. Pebbled paths with weeds poking through. It's back breaking work getting rid of all you. Behind is the rockery. Summer seats dotted here and there. A home made swing from a little arm chair. Peaking out or on full display, sculptors and statues. Gnomes with fairies trapped under glass. Busts and torsos, with breasts to look at. Above it all, my little den. Buddha at the entrance, it's all so Zen. Where I go to relax and hide. From children and noise and the world outside.