Condition of the Soil

I have been away one year short of a decade.  There is lots of gardening to do.  It is not that a man can’t tend the garden.  Yes, men can mow, turn the soil, weed whack, uproot the invasive blackberry, chop up the fallen trees and fill the wood shed.  In a little corner plant some vegetables and prune the fruit trees.

 

My touch calms the plants, brings nourishment and mulch to their roots.  Old blooms are removed, dead branches clipped.  I tend to little things.  See a bug before it eats the whole plant.  Build a nursery bed and let seedlings grow.  Know the life cycle of a common weed and notice the small wild dogtooth violet and try to cultivate it.  Go beyond the obvious and hope he remembers.

 

force beyond control

found knee deep in the garden

speak of little things

Condition of the Soil

Beast of a Word

inscribed on medieval manuscript

beast of a word

found gold-foiled on the margin

it had head and tail

wrapped as if consuming itself

its body plump with the word

eyes peered out in protective stance

reptilien eyes yet not reptile

what looked like a dragon of lore

a dragon it was not

tail was pronged three sharp points

used to whip out at foe

at which a venom would flow

the sting most painful

feet and hands were clawed

clinging to the word

that word was hate

 

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NaPoWriMo prompt – ekphrasis of a marginalia

 

 

 

Beast of a Word