Speak To The Earth

My mother really has the prettiest garden in town. Every spot is tenderly watched over, and I've just taken pictures of one small corner. That's me lurking in my clay clothes at the top of the walkway. If I turn to my left, I can go up the stairs and be in the kitchen. Today, there were brownies waiting. I love to wander around this place, I can find loved ones who I miss and thought were gone, but I find they've been here all the time.

Duck as you walk by the grapefruit tree, and go into the rose garden through the wire gate, added to deter the white tailed deer, who browse anyway. And if the house looks grey to you, don't tell my mother. She insists it's blue.

The pathway to the back door.

I found this anonymous poem in an old garden book. Its spoken from the point of view of the garden itself. Its been pinned to a corkboard in my workroom for years, I thought you might like it too.

I, Your Garden

I bring serenity to your life.

No human pursuit gives more pleasure to your days

than the creating of me.

I am outwardlly your own accomplishment,

but in the business of me, God is your more

than equal partner.

I am at once your solace in sorrow and your

inspiration for endeavor.

My flowering hand is outstretched to welcome you

at the end of the day;

My leafy arms reach yearningly for you when you return

from the longer absence.

I keep your feet on the ground, both physically and spiritually,

and something, none the less acutal because unseen,
flows from me into your body and soul, something that makes you valiant

and gives you the joy of living.

I am your flowers and vines and trees,

and the soil that gives them life.

I Am Your Garden.

Speak to the Earth and It shall teach thee.

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com