If I could write an almanac of you I would
Your timeline and your seasons.
I would trace every leaf on the pages of my journal
And press your petals between its pages.
I would describe the smells and the slow growth
The surprises, the planning, the fruit, the jams
The weekend ritual. Mowing the dandelions that reached to the sky.
My weedy garden, my first patch to call mine.
The Casuarina tree that I grew from seed, a lovers competition.
The lonely weekend trips to the garden centre and cheerful pots
that bloomed into an olive orchard.
The grafted apple trees created with the dearest friends that bore fruit out of season.
The replanted roses that survived the drought and frosts to make one last final blush
Before I shut the gate for the last time.
I would take a photo of you every day in every light and remember
How I propagated every shrub from a twig that took bloom over the tall front fence.
My sanctuary, my mistakes and my successes.
If I knew that they would remove you, I would have taken every plant with me
And potted them in my pockets, pots, pans, bags and satchels.
The grape vine, a gift from a friend now departed.
Hedges that lifted up into trees released from their weekly prune.
I will always remember the wild growth and gentle company.
My first garden.
Soil to Stars 