She’d rose at four a.m. hot in a thin cotton gown.
A fan above her bed cooled what seemed stale air.
Crumpled over the edge of her bed, a red kimono robe.
She lit the flame sending the scent of fresh coffee brewing through out her cottage.
Cup filled to the brim, her dew covered garden calling.
T’was her custom meditating into the beginning of each day.
Odd, this morning her music rang a sad reverie of life’s passing.
Sipping French Vanilla sweetened coffee,
a smell of approaching rain filled the air.
Those tiny Vinca red annuals she’d bought yesterday
needed planting, along with a red brick border,
the same brick border needed on a neighboring bush too.
Dressing quickly, gathering necessary tools, vigorously she accomplished
her goals.
Finished, she quenched sweaty thirst with a mix of cranberry apple juice,
sometimes mixed with green teas.
Still the sad lament of this mornings songs carried her mind to distant times.
She never clearly understood how each plant stirred different memories?
What meaning had their separate blooming times?
The iris’s always first to bloom lined her cottage with a brilliant purple
and yellow glow.
Red daisies followed by wild flowers of pink.
Thick small bushes filled with purple flowers.
A large desert sage (the center of this garden)
welcomed an early humming bird with red and white flowers profusely
springing along its branches.
Between delicate frail pink colored lilies
long thin stems swayed waiting for flat white garlic flowers blooms.
Last the trumpet vines requiring daily twisting through the lattices lining the length of a long concrete covered patio,
these her beloved Humming Birds favorite.
Was this going to be the year she stained this concrete a soft Sedona red? She knew colors permeated her entire life’s thread.
Long ago she purposely laid no plans of any “Blue flowers” here.
That she’d had enough of in life ~
Those blue times weren’t permitted here, haunting her enough in thoughts.
She’d learned with the first river-rock she’d laid,
this small plot of land was not just the earth, “her mother” calling her.
There is a heaven on earth!
From our mothers womb the verse of life begins.
Like ants we cluster in cities made of sticks and stones, mortared bricks
forgetting to this earth we’ll return.
A single dragonfly soared back and forth like the swaying pendulum
of an antique clock, another reminder of time spent.
Clicking Humming Birds wings told her days are numbered.
Tend your garden better than you treated life
ensuring your essence returns in someone else’s garden teaching
them the revolving doors during life!
Rachealgrace Adams…………July 22nd, 2010……………..©……………………