It's A Wonderful Life

In times past digging was easy

as sweeping winds wandering swiftly,

now energy's eclipsed by clouds of

growing old,

 

no more chasing eager early morning labours;

aged fleshy tissues delicate now, like anatomy of

membranes on butterfly wings, convincing me

to slow down...take it easy.

 

Corn sown in march now progressing;

husks developing, soon ready for picking,

while tomatoes ripening from green to blushing red;

gives feelings of elation, though work is never put to bed.

 

Cultivating tiring, so relax under Maple tree;

served up with hot coffee, listening to sound of

dulcet rustling leaves, as snail on bough of trunk

rests peacefully.

 

Closing eyes visions of forest walks,

recalling touching wizened bark in

grooves of elderly oaks; running fingers

along furrows, those knobbly bumps.

 

Now at this moment, eyes open to caw of crow

who has no place to go: just sits in tall tree gazing

down at me, reminder of energetic summers living

off the land so easily,

 

recalling our allotment those many years ago.

It wasn't just vegetable and flowers that flourished,

there lived whole other urban community in tall grasses,

small world traveling North, South, East and West,

thankfully left to run wild and free,

 

hidden ecosystem of gullible worms secretly wriggling

from feathered predators that were searching,

while sneaky beetles prowled leisurely

through deep jungle, assured... unafraid,

 

slugs slithering along; taking their time,

no cares had they with smooth sticky trails,

leading in circles to nowhere in particular.

 

Spiders in long grass inter-weaved webs

with spindly, fine gossamer threads,

never to be accused of being strait-laced;

 

these clever trappers in complex networks,

mathematicians of a small world are they;

solving puzzles without even trying is their specialty.

 

***

 

Now I'm back in the present,

thinking! Butterflies are many

this year, those painted ladies,

peacocks and cabbage white

out numbering ladybirds that linger near.

 

Noticing dandelion seeds blown

on puffs of sailing breeze,

where quell of misty rain takes them back

into earth to begin life cycle again with ease.

 

Quick witted, sharp eyed blackbird

turns over gravel stones; soon he'll be

turning leaves as autumn chill comes

around.

 

Each sensation sitting here,

sealing wisps of miracles;

flirting with nature, draped in reflections:

so many shimmering experiences

I've encountered surface easily now I'm old,

and if truth be known I wouldn't change it for the world.

 

Photo is my own.