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Gnarled hands

With hands gnarled from age
She works the soil
slowly, sometimes painfully
with determination.
She is driven to show them,
they think she’s too old.
“Let us do it “  they chirp.
“We’re young and strong
it won’t take us long.”
She sits and watches
Remembering the joy
The satisfaction
 The pleasure
 damp rich soil brought her.
 This is her serenity, her peace her joy!
They finish the work she started.
Did it bring them the same feelings?
To them, it was just work
A task, Get it done they said.
That’s their mantra 
“Just get the job done”.
They say their goodbyes,
Pecks on her cheek
Gentle hugs, she’s frail you know.
They leave her,
she sits for a minute,
sits in her beloved garden.
Looking over their work
she sighs.
They don’t get it, they don’t get her!
She kneels on sore knees,
immerses herself in the feel of the dirt,
works the soil with those gnarled hands
soaking up the sun,
 listening to the sounds of the garden
Rejoicing in the day!
She plants seeds she hid in her pocket,
hidden from them.
She says a silent thank you to them
for caring and worrying about her.
She knows they mean well
They just don’t understand.

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