The Garden

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We dug baby

cedars from a roadside ditch.

I wanted to save young ones

from be-heading.

We planted them

in a garden

materializing from

from imagination

and fervent tree talk

between soul mates.

Kinship is the word he used.

I “saw” a copse

of cedars spreading out

behind the stone.

 

I thought,

one day, I too

will be buried here

under Trillium rock,

who sprouts arbutus

and twin flowers

wears a carpet

of velvet moss

all year long…

He will care for us

when I am gone.

 

We wrapped

tender seedlings

nestled in sphagnum,

fragrant soil, and aged manure,

covered and watered yet again.

I see tiny rootlets

seeking familiar tendrils –

micorhizzal mycelium

creeping towards

the newcomers.

I hear seedlings cry out

“We’re here!” to a mother

who will nurture them,

sending carbon and minerals

their way.

Extra light too, if needed.

Flattened trees stumps

add rich nutrients;

The sun is tempered

by  gracious hands

– late summer leaves.

Young Mother stands straight

and tall, her voice is clear.

Her bark is not yet shaggy.

Surveying her adopted children,

(like I do him)

conversing through root and scent

the air is sweetened

by a Love not understood

by many, because

Giving is who She is.

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