Then the thing rushes in at us,
thick as fog, green as a storm.
I did so well for so long.
Since Thanksgiving.
Cold hard water troughs had to be hammered to let the water up for the birds.
Rain was cold and frost was jagged.
Solstice swept in with summer heat, then back to rain,
dripping sprinkles light enough for a new lawn.
So many birds feasting on grass seed
that a second bag must be sown, then even more.
Each day we watched the tiny green blades fight towards the light. We stared and watched, finally letting it be,
knowing green blades would fill in,
eventually was filling in in bare spots.
Birds drifted away when their wild birdseed was not refilled.
We checked morning, noon and night...the growth is infinitesimal.
The gophers try to move the house.
Time is on their side.
Rain pours and pours and a foot step sinks,
a collapsed tunnel, now a low spot.
And a muddy shoe trips...a lumpy mole hill.
This kind of sturdy grass creeps on, growing through mowing, through muck.
That patch is not a lawn at all finally.
No flat to be seen, but not quite dirt either.
Land. Field. Yard. Driveway. Cold before Christ's birthday.
We live here? Right here? Garbage cans at the driveway?
I know childhood eyes can't see their older adulthood. Not even adults can; can't see nights spent drowsing, snapping to conclusions,
then drift again to a restless sleep until the next wondering wakes us.
Sick with fear, colored blinding magnesium. So hot I'm shivering.
Showing posts with label garden. Show all posts
Showing posts with label garden. Show all posts
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Dustbath
...
A soft dove colored dove pair settle into the breezy spot of sifted dirt on the lawn, bare of green. They preen and stretch out a leg and a wing, nudging the other, wife or husband forever, warm in the sunny summer heat, content as monkeys' midday snoozing in wild, faraway tree limbs.
Sunflowers sink with a thud into gopher holes, stump chewed neatly, sharply. Tasty underground parts are up for grabs if you're down there, watching an edible candelabra dancing above in the ceiling. We know they'll come, sniffing and scuttling dirt aside with little hands curled and digging, heaving neat, pebbly soil behind. Holes so deep they're bottomless. Listen as chunky sharp gravel rattles down the perfect circular sides.
I think of the traps near the poisonous stinking poison for sale at the too bright hardware chain warehouse store. And poison itself, ready to end the ruination of my garden. I think of the traps so it will be gently organic, but how can gentle describe decapitation and then stuffing the bloody thing down a hole to warn the others. I drowned one once, horrible, but practical. Brutal big cats and bears kill for dinner. I kill for vegetables.
Wire nailed on a frame, tipped over and filled with freshly composted, steaming fluffy, dirt; brand named "feather light" for used chicken feathers proliferating in this town. For now I poke in peppers (sweet) and squashes (zucc), started from seeds from who knows where. In Fresno or Bakersfield in flat neat robotic rows under pure flat hot sun, drip lines standing by, computerized for perfection, for clean bright distribution. Wholesale to resale to me to dirt to hope for a flourish of green in my garden.
I could buy my veggies for less. Far less. Iron and minerals, trace though they be, and C and maybe niacin, from my own dirt feeds me while D comes from outdoors while tending little, green, cellulose-bearing vegetables. I strive to fill up my belly with five servings of something fruity, dark leafy, something my animal stomach doesn't always want, except maybe at dinner; steamed to go down easy.
Watering is my favorite, but weeding makes demands as does trimming and watching for bugs (sow and pincher) and snails; organically because we're going to eat the plants. Chase those jays who want peanuts, who will hop, hop, hop on springy legs for sunflower seeds, but may mistake a seedling for food. This expensive vegetable garden joins us to our Eden. That magnificent solar system flies by ignoring Adam's work. Tender sunny hands reach like blind moles forced out of mounds, my turn to reach, to pat that hot, dark, shreddy mulch. Then sprinkling; keeping the blowing dust down and elements in.
...
A soft dove colored dove pair settle into the breezy spot of sifted dirt on the lawn, bare of green. They preen and stretch out a leg and a wing, nudging the other, wife or husband forever, warm in the sunny summer heat, content as monkeys' midday snoozing in wild, faraway tree limbs.
Sunflowers sink with a thud into gopher holes, stump chewed neatly, sharply. Tasty underground parts are up for grabs if you're down there, watching an edible candelabra dancing above in the ceiling. We know they'll come, sniffing and scuttling dirt aside with little hands curled and digging, heaving neat, pebbly soil behind. Holes so deep they're bottomless. Listen as chunky sharp gravel rattles down the perfect circular sides.
I think of the traps near the poisonous stinking poison for sale at the too bright hardware chain warehouse store. And poison itself, ready to end the ruination of my garden. I think of the traps so it will be gently organic, but how can gentle describe decapitation and then stuffing the bloody thing down a hole to warn the others. I drowned one once, horrible, but practical. Brutal big cats and bears kill for dinner. I kill for vegetables.
Wire nailed on a frame, tipped over and filled with freshly composted, steaming fluffy, dirt; brand named "feather light" for used chicken feathers proliferating in this town. For now I poke in peppers (sweet) and squashes (zucc), started from seeds from who knows where. In Fresno or Bakersfield in flat neat robotic rows under pure flat hot sun, drip lines standing by, computerized for perfection, for clean bright distribution. Wholesale to resale to me to dirt to hope for a flourish of green in my garden.
I could buy my veggies for less. Far less. Iron and minerals, trace though they be, and C and maybe niacin, from my own dirt feeds me while D comes from outdoors while tending little, green, cellulose-bearing vegetables. I strive to fill up my belly with five servings of something fruity, dark leafy, something my animal stomach doesn't always want, except maybe at dinner; steamed to go down easy.
Watering is my favorite, but weeding makes demands as does trimming and watching for bugs (sow and pincher) and snails; organically because we're going to eat the plants. Chase those jays who want peanuts, who will hop, hop, hop on springy legs for sunflower seeds, but may mistake a seedling for food. This expensive vegetable garden joins us to our Eden. That magnificent solar system flies by ignoring Adam's work. Tender sunny hands reach like blind moles forced out of mounds, my turn to reach, to pat that hot, dark, shreddy mulch. Then sprinkling; keeping the blowing dust down and elements in.
...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
