I LACED up my gardening shoes, admiring the SHINE of their newness, not a single TINGE of spring mud or muck marring their perfection. I love them and all the hope they represent of a new season in the garden. Running my hands over the shoes, I anticipate when they are creased and worn, stretched out from days of pulling them off, knowing I will not bother to UNTIE them, shoving my feet in and out of them with abandon. So it is with my gardening: careful, clean clear plans that then morph into a more comfortable, somewhat scruffy, raggedy garden

Georg’ann

Gathering ourselves into a circle,
becoming still.
Maneuvering our facial muscles into expressions of reverence,
striving to look the part.
Some imagined serenity, wisdom
so self consciously wrought.
The CHIME is wrung
sound reverberates
as a candle is passed
someone’s hair caught in the flame,
a whispered SINGE
breaks my resolve to strive.
Crafting meaning is INANE.
ENTRE tu, ma verite
UNTIE the strings
let me fall open

Heather