This morning, we headed out late for breakfast, and then rambled the streets of Casco Viejo with the thought of stopping at the ruins beside Plaza Herrera; hubby wanted to investigate the construction of these last vestiges of a time wrapped in fiery legend, for these were the remnants of the city sacked by Captain…
Category: gardening
Late June Garden
Gratitude for the lilac white petunias tiny papyrus the boxes of garden, off-square the potato bathtub these hillbilly choices, my higgledy carpentry and green life that says yes nonetheless gratitude for the patio this ache in my back from the building of it that pile of bricks for the path yet to lay these eye…
Meditation: Gold
do you miss the rain ancestors? or is that how you touch earth again? do you watch over one nest? or roam? spirit feet like seeds riding is that you singing in summer storms? do you remember? is that why spruce wears pollened buds? this gold as transient as breath. Image by lldigo via…
May 22: Certainty of Trees
Gratitude to the rain. Gratitude to the sky. Gratitude to the many tiny things. What are we supposed to do? Arise into cities, bloom and shed light? It’s true, I don’t think much about how my brothers live. There they stand, gnarled still offering softest green in faithful bargain, to the sky. Look how their…
Day 22: Laconic Tonic
Don’t ‘at’ me any Earth Day bullshit, i’m in the garden: unless you have some skin to put in this game, shut up. If all you have is voice then tell me like a peasant only the poet bones of it. But better you bend your back to shovel lift these bricks, use knees. Kill…
Day 20: disproof
Long before Amiskwaciy an inland sea, balmy changed for Her own reasons long before we named her Gaia. In Nass valley, volcanic green. Off Sri Lanka’s coast, city of myth. Amber birthed in Baltic gloaming. Tales of Atlantis. Song after song extolling our echo of the One Song in which She, too is singing. When…
Day 16: List Poem, On Gardens
What gardeners become: contemplative sanguine patient genocidal in service of their chosen. What I love in my garden: saskatoons, who rise early dandelions, earlier still that shaggy sense of wellbeing presaged in first green lace slug traps, like Mom would set. Spring garden memories: Grandma, tongue thick in English sorrowing for strawberry time in those…
Askipaw: Permaculture Superstar
Woke up to a slight flu, enough to spend the day languishing round the house til mid-afternoon, when a timid knock at the back door announced Fatima, my neighbour, who had come to ask if I had grape leaves to spare. Fatima has been harvesting my leaves for a few seasons now, and I’ve become…
Potato Soul
it’s hard to cook potatoes at a certain time of year, they sag and wrinkle, all eyes, lustful surging outward, turning green if soul is a potato, how to judge? when to cook, when to save who’s greening for the renewal Image from Sewell family archives, circa 1974, north of Valhalla.
A Mustang for Bob: Self-Portrait as Compost
Originally posted on O at the Edges:
Self-Portrait as Compost Beneath the surface find warmth, the fruit of decay and mastication, of layered mixes and intermingled juices. Disintegrated or whole, still I strive to speak. Bits of me meld, to be absorbed slowly; I process and am processed: here, within the pepper bush’s deep…
Coming to Canada: A Gardener’s Meditation, Part 1
A garden is a long work. Yes, you can turn soil, plant seeds, harvest in that same fall. In that sense, to grow a garden is a simple task, unskilled labour; weed a little, watch the water, wait on the season, and done. Gardening, though, is more than this. It is the communion of human…
In the Garden, Retilled
you can’t hurry dirt garbage to rich brown, seasons and the efforts of millions, obedient to life, composing, compost, calm pose, compelled to completion so small against it all, tidal wave, tectonic thrust, breath ocean exploding, green threads back toward the sun. does any given microbe know daylily blooms? And here’s the 2009 edit,…
Prairiepomes 