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,
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.