Gnarled Hands

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.