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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 4, December 2014

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Diane Hemingway
Lapeer, Michigan USA


Minding the Garden

Sunrise, sipping coffee on the porch overlooking my garden, the dogs snooze at my side. I consider what to move for next year. Milkweed you'll go east, other yellow flowers, west—never knew your name. Daylilies, stay put. And you, uninvited ones: bird-drop-seed-flowers, so pretty with golden petals and bronzy center. I like you where you are. Black-eyed susans, you're still as yellow as the day you bloomed, but don't sink in too comfortably because some of you are moving. Echinacea, looking old and filled with seed feedings, the chickadees will have their fill of you this winter. Everything else, not sure. But then, I see the garden from a different perspective: the lawn on the other side. Hostas still hide under the blue spruce. I see you from the porch, fringe visible from the other side. You like the shade. This will be our little secret. And, as I ponder the changes, two old men in neon vests walk the dawn.

pink dawn—
the snug fit
of garden gloves

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