You get a second posting today, Groundhog Day, 2011. The reason is that on Groundhog Day, thirty-four years ago my life changed. In honor of that time I have made this attempt to honor that special day. Poetry or prose? You can make that call, I only know they are the words that came falling forth.
If you aren't interested in these self-concious lines, just skip to the next posting, a much more typical one for Beyond My Garden.
Where is she the happiest?
"Why, the garden," they would answer.
"That is where her love lies,
with the colors and shapes she created,
the form and texture she cast
from the earth, itself."
Or perhaps, another would say,
"In the woods." "She would be happy
with a chance of discovery at every step -
animal tracks or a forgotten plant;
a tree with lichen whose beauty calls her."
"Or maybe on a mountain
with a view that takes her breath,
or hills that enfold her in a sense of security."
"Yes, that would make her happy."
Such replies, though forgiven
proves ignorance.
They don't know me at all.
For where
am I the happiest?
The form I seek is not in the garden
but (here beside me) born from the earth.
The texture of your fragile skin,
rough with its scars
earned from hard work.
I am happy knowing
that with you
life is filled with discovery at every stage.
Forgotten memories
remembered with a smell or sound
whelming my life with the beauty of yours.
And the view I crave is not to be seen
from a mountain
but from my window as you come up the walk,
your lunch bucket heavy in your firm grip,
your head turning side to side
seeing what needs done
seeing what is sure about the world
you have built.
Where am I happiest?
I am happiest by your side
Whether in the garden,
the woods,
the mountains
Or in front of the TV, surfing the stations,
continuing to build our life together.
I am happiest with you.
(Aww, isn't it sweet that I offer this book?)
