To Wile And Beguile

Just a spare moment - the urge
becomes irresistible; how to set it
aside? Simply not possible. The
garden sits innocent of guile, simply
there, presenting itself. It is my
critical eye that observes all those
little tasks that beg the attentive,
perfectionist (me?) gardener's
task-responsive bustle.

To be done: shrub trimming, tree
cut-backs, perennial divisions,
insecticide concocting-and-spraying,
dead-heading, weed-pulling, coddling
and watering; staking and replacing.
Only then, when all is in impeccable
order, every plant in its seasonal session
of bloom and display, can the exacting
gardener rest her attentiveness to
excruciating, minuscule detail.

On the other hand, perhaps not,
for none of those tasks has a defined
beginning or an end but for the imposed
interregnum of winter cessation: It is
well to remember that the garden we
champion strives to emulate nature
not the self-obsessed nature of the
self-flagellating gardener.

The gardener who, to assure the pleasure
of aiding, not compelling, encouraging,
not demanding, will inevitably discover
the sweet solution to compulsion.
The garden's rewards in sumptuous
exuberant loveliness, its ultimate award.