Tanka Prose

GOING SOLO

 

Gardening today and we are up early. Summer annuals, three dozen, (give or take a few. I’ve lost count) await in their small, utilitarian  containers to be transplanted into larger, decorative containers in the patio. It’s quiet here. There is never much road traffic in front, and neighbors are at a distance and rarely heard. On one side are tall privet hedges, on the other, a wide grassy slope, and in the back, a wooded ravine, home to  birds, chipmunks, squirrels, and deer.

 

The plants are an array of colors:  orange marigolds, pink and white begonias, red geraniums, purple petunias, multi-colored zinnias. We fill the planters with potting soil, add water, work it in.  Choose which plants to go where. Combine different plants in one container or keep them separate? We differ and have a coffee break. As happens every year, there are enough plants and containers to please us both. 

 

By the time the noon whistle blows we are finished. The flowers are in the planters, tools put away and patio swept, table and chairs and umbrella brought out from the garage . We stand back and admire our own bit of Eden. 

 

promises 

of forever and ever

know not reality

but only youth’s springtime

when love is in bloom

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