She kept it all inside her
and never spoke a word,
though her thoughts flew and darted
like a trapped and frantic bird.
Inside her was a garden
that was hung with Spanish moss,
like the massive oaks were weeping
to remind her of her loss..
The spider wove at breakneck speed,
a perfect work of art,
watching it, she had her doubts
that humans were so smart.
The southern air was sultry
and the sea salt cloyed the skin,
the yard dogs dug depressions
and the alley cats grew thin.
The black top roads got sticky
when the southern sun beat down
and the heat forever rises
forming monstrous thunderclouds.
When the blue sky rolls and blackens
soon the thunder shakes the ground
and the southern landscape flattens
as the blinding rain pours down.
Nostrils flared, she filled her lungs
with the dank and heady scent
of peat-rich soil, decay and loam,
of lavender and mint.
And in her secret garden,
reptiles raised their faces high,
and blessed the cooling water
that came pouring from the sky.
She loved the iridescence
of the blue-green dragonflies
and marveled at their flying skills
as they went whirring by.
The rain soon turned magnolia leaves
into miniature garden ponds,
there the dragonflies must lay their eggs
before the rain is gone.
Wrens and sparrows chirped and chattered,
they enjoyed the cooling rain,
but the squirrels were wet and grumpy
and the jays were raising Cain.
The girl did not seek cover
and the rain ran down her face,
on her lashes rain drops trembled,
much like crystals gently placed.
The thunder never frightened her
nor did the lightning scare,
to nature she was connected,
to living things, aware.
She lived in every moment,
soon the thunderstorm would end
and the dark earth would start steaming,
then the heat would come again.
Suddenly all fell silent
in her garden of delights,
all living things were quiet
as the steam began to rise.
The gray squirrel broke the silence
and if squirrels could really speak,
she knew he would be cursing,
surely swearing a blue streak.
And then she saw the blue jay
madly pumping out his call,
his angry face was comical
Mohawk feathers standing tall.
She swam the Sea of Apathy
and the Ocean of Ennui,
there the waves upheld her gently,
washing over memories.
And the earthworms turned the soil
in the garden of her mind
and the trees again were weeping
from the echoes left behind.