“The Garden at Dawn”

crescent-moon

 

The Garden at Dawn

 

The dawn moon appears

Low in the eastern sky,

With an idiot’s grin

From cheek to cheek,

A glow so intense

It startles the eye.

 

My hands deep in the soil

Planting tender shoots of life

With reverence that feeds the soul

As seedlings feed flesh later to come.

 

There is God in this black soil,

Earthworms and tiny bits of life

Independent of will or wishes.

 

Moonbeams spill on this tilled earth

Like a benediction or a blessing,

And bathes plants and planter with expectation,

Promise.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016

 

Sometimes you have to admit that there is nothing you can do.

That is the feeling many of us have today. The chaos, insanity and downright vulgarity of the current campaigns is bewildering and in the end….unbelievable.

Is our nation having a collective meltdown?

We aren’t facing what Europe is right now. Not yet, and hopefully, never in those extremes. You have to trust the securities who protect us and our nation will finally get it right. These things are almost “Mission Impossible”. We pray for these folk.

Here, at ‘Clach Mhullinn’, (‘millstone around the neck’ in Gallic), we have decided there is nothing we can do about whatever is going to happen out there: here? We can plant gardens, tend fruit trees, cuddle our hens and one rooster (“Goofy”….not a Trump insult), and enjoy what life we have left. Having strong fences and good neighbors help in this.

In the end, we all are living in the Age of Anxiety. But we don’t have to live in the Age of Fear.

Lady Nyo

 

My beautiful picture

Watercolor, Early Spring, Jane Kohut-Bartels, 2011

 

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2 Responses to ““The Garden at Dawn””

  1. Sherry Marr Says:

    So beautiful. I love “there is God in this black soil”. Yes, there is. I like your comment too about our age of anxiety…..not much we can do about out there. Thank heavens for yards, and gardens, and birdsong.And poems like yours.

    Like

  2. ladynyo Says:

    And like yours, Sherry. I have come to appreciate the tribe of poets and gardeners more and more. It’s a tribe I feel a belonging. And yes, there is God in this soil. Perhaps the only place I find God some days. I know that this struggle to find God is something that most of us go through, sometimes privately, afraid of the mockery of others, but there comes a time in life, probably later life, when we stop fighting these things. Bad Christians don’t define God to me, anymore, and that was basically the reason I resisted this search for so many decades. Now? I just appreciate all of Nature and wonder at the miracle of it. Must be God in there somewhere, like a pony in the do-do. LOL!

    regarding our Age of Anxiety. There are a lot of triggers out there. Since we can spend most of our lives fighting a fight that really is beyond us on the national front, I prefer to be quieter about it all now. The gardens are calling, the roses, the weeds (some are friends in the garden…) and our real tribe of poets. These are folk who raise us up with their caring. I’ll be over to your blog today. And thank you, sweet friend. Hope the Canadian wildfires are lessening and they don’t spread further. We all need rain.

    Like

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