Morning’s Glory
Early Dawn I take to the garden with plow and spade
Tilling the muddy field in the misty morning
With rigorous movements I push the plow
As my feet sing in the ground I stand
Sweat forms beads upon my high brow
and blisters form on my bare hands pushing
Sinking deeper within the mud I feel coldness
The wet clay forming mud oozes between my toes
Continuing to pull and push I struggle against the grown weeds
Abandoning the plow, I am soon to take up the hoe and spade
Putting my back to work, I raise the hoe high and let it fall
Breaking up the clumps of dirt and clods of mud
Standing in the field, I take a little reprise
Standing watch over the acre I have just tilled
Looking over the other half acre still to go
I wiggle my toes in the encompassing cold mud
Tickling sensations run up my legs into my spine
I glance down and imagine my toes turning into worms
Regaining my breath, I head back to my fun filled task
Taking up the plow once more, I start the rhythmic push-pull dance
Musing that the work of the gardener is a game of give and take
Taking from me my energy, but in the end giving me a freshly tilled field
Finishing up with the work, the morning sun is gently rising as the fog dissipated
I go to the water bin to wash my muddy feet in the icy waters collected from the night
Leave a Reply