Garden Stories
Perhaps,
the garden should tell its own story,
a history of how it phases in and out through the seasons.
From the barren dry earth of snow chilled winters
to seedling growth rising in early spring
and prolific summer presentations of flowered life.
Maybe,
it has no need to speak
only to simply exist and be.
Only my eyes, ears and nose
can muster poorly painted words to describe
what my fragile mind perceives and relays in thought.
This garden life has no need of me,
it lives and grows,
rests and wakes unattended.
Its serene beauty requires no description
it is beyond my interpretation
without the parley of my inadequate sketching.
The garden thrives in majesty,
innocent, unadulterated, transient and free
a story of God's eye and creation.
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