Member-only story
Morning in the Garden
A free verse poem
I live in a rural area in Ontario where the autumn weather is much like that of my childhood years in England, damp and often dismal. I have a long driveway leading to the main road where I can see for about half a mile in either direction and sound carries on still mornings. (100% of profits from Compassion Gallery goes to charities around the world. I’m not an affiliate — I just like the photos)
Air hangs grey and heavy in the early mist
like a cloud of damp smoke
Cold droplets soak my skin and chill my bones
It’s a dismal morning in the garden
Only tap-tap-tapping on the old weathered oak
penetrates the thick air
a vague memory of a poem from long ago
pulling my thoughts down to the soaked earth
Like intertwined ribbons through the trees
bands of gold and orange begin to float effortlessly
chasing the grey over the hill out of sight
heaviness dissipates and warmth melts the cold inside
School children call to each other down the road
Blue Jay and Robin search for a tasty snack
while chipmunks and squirrels echo the chatter of the children
It’s a good morning in the garden after all
