Can Flowers Change Your Life? XII. March 6, 2016
Wind rocks the tops of the pines,
loosens old, useless needles,
holds new green ones out to sun.
When the wind is high, the small
oak branches and large dead limbs
fall. I gather kindling. I want to be
sturdy these last years, keep
balancing, hands out, when my body
leans too far one way or another.
You lose the power when you don’t
use it, whether muscular or mental.
I walk more slowly, hold on to the
fences, avoid Wag’s vole holes,
but I can still shovel, hoe, and rake.
I can cut firewood. I can plant seeds
and water them. Each day brings more
work, but each day I finish one job
and start another. I live the way I
want to live. I dodge my enemies’
arrows and take strength from those
who comfort me. All the garden
daffodils have risen to give me white
light at night, nodding pale yellow
by day. They lift up their bonnets
in spite of my neglect of their bed.
As soon as I removed the dead stalks
from last year’s flowers, they burst into
white flame. How much more
comforted can a human being be?
I have no excuses. All I have to do
is my very best. The rest is in
the Universe’s capable hands.