goldenlangur Posted May 7, 2009 Share Posted May 7, 2009 where I planted chilies red poppies -- spring With each lift of my fork pink-fleshed worms glisten uneasily in the spring sun. Some fall through the prongs and others curl back into themselves, grit and all. I pray the ones I've spliced will regenerate dismembered parts of their bodies: Om Mani Padme Hung! But what succour for the worms this mantra of compassion? Bulbuls, Wagtails and Blackbirds throng the hedge as I struggle with my conscience and the weeds, which have the garden in their grip. karmic rebirth - is this worm my grandmother? The increasingly raucous dawn chorus heralds an outpouring of the nesting impulse. The mating pairs will relish what I've unearthed, I reason and try not to dwell on the ant holes I've plugged and the slugs I've crushed. When the monsoon clouds unload their baggage over the valley, I know my attempts at gardening will be futile, as new growths of every kind, unfurl in the warm rain, which moistens, and teases life from seeds, asleep since autumn and weeds, I've tried to rend from the earth. icy dusk - I sit by the fire listen to the birds sing goldenlangur Quote goldenlangur Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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