Passers-by admire, oh yes admire.
Rich, moist, freshly-turned, seemingly yearning
For Your gentle fingers to push through
So many invisible layers with new seeds.
A perennial or two perhaps You’ll grace me
To stop this endless planting.

Ah, how no one knows
The rich, moist, freshly-turned
Feels raw to me, quite naked, 
Fearful of the winds, the rains
Flooding through to places in my soul
Where no roots abound
Only memories. Memories of untold,
Unplanned, unexpected up-rootings.
Memories of blossoms long since bloomed, scuttled,
Buried for mulch or burnt
Mercilessly in a pile of clippings, cuttings,
Pruned limbs, not even dead.

It sometimes takes me days,
Sometimes weeks,
Sometimes many a conversation with You
To open my eyes and see and hear,
To notice this small patch “work,”
Is but a small patch in an endless garden 
Where I get to live with You
Forever and ever.

So now that I have come to my senses,
Will you please stop digging
Around in this patch work of my soul,
And find some other fool to cultivate,
Season after season, your forever changing dreams?
Can we not just rest together?
Forget the work?
Yes, let the weeds grow.

As I suspected,
Your answer is No.
So being the foolish dirt that I am
I guess I will submit,
And find some foolish pride
In being your prize patch work.

Or perhaps
My rich, moist, freshly-turned me 
Can foolishly alchemize my fear to love
Where I do yearn for
Your gentle fingers pushing through
So many invisible layers of my soul,
Remembering it is You,
After all.

     Today, is March 09, 2014, the anniversary of my Grandfather's death, killed in a seemingly unnecessary accident.  In my life, I sometimes feel like the dirt in the garden, and I imagine my Dad really felt like the dirt in the garden when the knock on the door came to announce the most awful news.
     I know my Dad struggled for years trying to give some meaning to this painful event.  I am grateful that I have people in my life, including my Senior Partner, who love me so deeply, which means sometimes they go digging around in my soul in ways I protest and do not understand, but somehow, someway. I keep recognizing that I get to be in their gardenS, and when the realization comes, I sometimes feel like that little kid looking over the fence, trying to take in the expanse of it all.  And I am learn to dream it all into the wonder filled  life that it is.  I AM.


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