Perchance To Dream

The garden has settled comfortably
into its long seasonal sleep.
A rest well earned, after long, languid
months of unstinting devotion
to pleasuring itself in the grace
of brilliant beauty, dedicated bounty.
Of blooms and fruits; the structure
of the seasons of growth and production.

But there is no full lapse
during sleep. For the spirit
of the garden goes forth to impress
upon the slumbering that this is
but their intermission, before
resuming their splendidly vibrant,
fecund destiny. Nature’s design.

In time, they will rouse themselves
recall that infinite routine
practise to raise themselves
from the cold, dank ground
and proudly present in bold colours
and pastel hues, shaming the
bland grey of late winter, reluctant
to depart the scene of frozen dominance.

First the bulbs will thrust tentative
green shoots, suddenly transformed
to blazing colour, shapes, sizes.
Perennials then, those robust garden
stalwarts, will recall themselves to
riotous duty, sending up preparatory
greens, then rocketing into fragrant,
colourful and orderly ranks, spring
to summer, to mid-fall.

Senior members of the cast will
finally, reluctantly recall their repertory
of late-fall presence and allow themselves
to blaze forth in the primary tints of
the rainbow, reminding songbirds they
too must prepare to launch themselves
into that same old familiar routine.

Minor and major players dream
of those moments when their presence
echoes the season, their bright costumes
lavish displays; perfumed presence
delighting themselves and awing the
creatures of the Earth. Those dreams
so real they can imagine the urgency
to perform. And then, they do.