if a tree fits...

In the beginning (not THE beginning)
was the Earth,
a bit of earth actually.
Some farm.
A place,
an earthy place, some felt,
?not too shabby,? none felt
But, it was a place to start,
?Genesis??
a place to start stuff.

Actually the beginning was a seed,
was in a seed?
imagined, not imaginary?
no fairy tale beans for this place?
what grew had to be believable.

And so, a small kernel
of large imagination
was planted,
and though conditions not auditionned,
this seed, with strong ambition,
generated will to emerge.
It somehow survived.
(not nearly thriving)
In challenging soil, roots searching,
seek further, reach deeper, sustaining.
If struggling is strengthening,
this specimen: no wimp!

Tough roots exploring,
stubbornly gripping,
in ground near depleted,
not much left for a starward reach.
But,
meagre appearance belies
a nourishing network
taking hold,
developing unseen,
dark, and deep.

Patience.
No.
Prodding and pacing, anxious, not waiting,
more like pushing a river perceived as too slow.
Not quite patience, this pushing,
the seedling?s reluctance, its slowness to grow.
And then,
despair turned to praying, and ?patience? to prayer,
and these prayers, heard at last,
carried hopeless to hope.

It was the Trees that were listening, in silence responding.
Trees from the other side, with Grandfather leading,
crossing together, the Silver Lake road.
These giving tree neighbors, generous and selfless,
gave shelter,
a food place,
and time for the soil.

Limitations undone,
this sprout?s recovery was sprung,
unfolding,
fulfilling,
the seed that was holding
untold potential, and
songs to be sung?

It was the Trees?
giving trees?
emerging and healing, self-nourishing trees;
propagating and guiding, and learning, fulfilling.
These trees were commited to living for others, and
to giving their living, their shading for shelter;
these trees that were listening?

It is their turn now,
so, listen?
now?hear the trees?listen
to the trees?

from the GARDENER'S GUIDE TO LIFE

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.

                                             ...William Shakespeare


The year's at the spring, and day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven; the hillside's dew-pearled:
The lark's on the wing; the snail's  on the thorn;
God's in His heaven - all's right with the world.
                                                       
                                                   ...Robert Browning

No garden is without weeds......Thomas Fuller


Weed your own garden first. ...... old saying