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When the world wearies and society fails to satisfy, there is always the garden. – Minnie Aumonier  I don't know about you but the last few days have been rough, news-wise. Today I had an edge and cranky pants on until I went to a local garden space. I've been thinking about a basket for the shade garden in front for fall and winter. All these fit the bill. Tomorrow I plant.
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,I am adopting an idea from the talented Michelle H. Barnes. It's called MONDAY MUSING.  A couple of Friday's ago, I wanted to share a Fire poem that was rolling around in my head. But alas, I waited and struggled getting it our and then the news of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg and hit and the blog post went a different direction.
I happened upon a poem by Kim Stafford and was taken by the craft: each line held only three words. I had found my mentor text for my fire poem based on daily observations during those dark, ashened days. Here is the poem: Fire Week by Jone Rush MacCulloch on Labor Day we eat dinner graffiti decorates walls I add mine forty-eight hours later the restaurant burns to the ground with the town smoke suffocates sky asthma lungs labor a giant campfire nobody has s’mores we can’t breathe say Covid patients we can’t breathe say police victims we can’t breathe says climate change ash cloud pillows smother the sun smoke suffocates sky coast to coast oxalis, mice, ferns, pets, firs, children hallowed ash dust feed forests, gardens silent curfew streets birds stop singing smoke suffocates sky we can’t breathe we weep |
