Days begin with a walk to the little house
I feel her presence there, in the garden where
the beauty she brought is quietly displayed.
Stopping to pull a few weeds, Im
compelled to work the ground.
As the dirt and I become one
I feel, most likely a breeze, kiss my face.
The chirping of the birds beckons me.
I stroll, lost in my thoughts,
logical time slips away.
We’re walking side by side, holding hands.
I remember we planted this one on her birthday.
Warmth surges through me.
Squirrels dance at my feet,
I hear the shuffle of her walk.
Hummers buzz playfully past my ears,
and I smile, as she has whispered to me through them.
The Snowball tree is blooming already.
We planted it together,
along with the Lilac Bush and the Hydrangeas.
Her garden was a place of joy for both of us.
While she has gone away,
her spirit has not.
It was her time in the garden back then,
She left all these things,
cultivated by her love.
Now they all look to me for nurturing.
I have the love,
I don’t have her knack.
The garden and it’s residents
are patient with me.