Matthew Lyle Landsman

I could hardly wait to have you under my nails, on the soles of my shoes, and my wintered stiff knees. There is humus, and compost, and a winter’s worth of water to be found. Last year’s leaves and petals, blossoms and seeds in the mix as well. But you’re hardened and packed, mottled and inhospitable until I nurture and massage the air and life back into you there. Whether shaded or under the noonday sun, I’ll till and turn, mix and churn…and give you a fresh start and make up your bed. Come seed or start, bulb or stem…You’ll give me what I desire, and you’ll get to do what you do best, host life, seek light…the morning dew and evening rains.
Ah, the soil of Mother Nature. The good earth beneath my feet and between my fingers. The smells and textures and promise of what is to come. We have a partnership and mutual gratitude for the efforts of one another. There is little more satisfying to the eye, the palate, the nose and touch, as the gift of things I grow and harvest, bunch and display…or simply allow to flourish and run the course of the seasons. The giving of time, touch, and love and returning of life, scents, taste and a feast to the eyes…
I shall awake some days at dawn, and join the robin there at the tug of a meal. Coffee on the patio, or a seat on a faithful old stump. The songs of morning, glistening drops of infant dawn’s dew decorate the web and leaf, blade and pane. And I shall privately take in the chorus of silence, the occasional song. The long shadows and rose hues on the horizon there. I will give thanks for the opening of the night tightened petals, the yawns of Mother Nature as some waken and others seek slumber.
Tis the ways of life, the tending and harvest. The wait, the reward. The effort and the companionship of what only God can create…with a little help from the gardener’s touch, the ancient pump and cyclical brass that extends a blessing of water from spigot to roots. I will lay down my head after the first stars appear, and return to your embrace while coffee is fresh and the last stars fade. And I will start my day, no matter the tasks at hand, with the love returned, from the humble kingdom that is within the property lines of my nurtured land.
I can hardly wait, to feel you there under my feet while I walk to a magical little spot to take it all in and begin my day…in my garden. Love you old friend and my personal Constant Gardener; Glenda Dawn.

Read Full Post »