As I sit Looking out over the garden My eyes are drawn to the uncut grass And that patch that grows a different shade, To the shed door that doesn't quite close And the fence panel resting out of place. I see uneven flagstones And that leaky gutter. So many things to do, I mutter. And so I feel pulled, dragged in to action. Called to account for so much unfinished business. I hold my nerve, choosing to sit. Letting eyes close and feeling the breath. My mind regurgitates the images, Reminding me of jobs not done. My body feels the tension, a reflection of the gap, The gaping chasm between how things are and how I would like them to be. I open my eyes and look out over the garden. I ask myself what can I bring to this? After a moment flailing in the wind... Perhaps a spark of curiosity. I wonder what it would be like to step out and feel the dew on the grass. Whether that patch feels any different It is such a strong colour! I remember the smell of cut grass. I notice the plant beneath the leaky gutter, drip fed, and flourishing. I enjoy the simplicity of the brick Propping the shed door closed. I feel a longing to go outside and be in the garden. I hold my nerve, choosing to sit. Letting eyes close and feeling the breath. My mind wanders out, longing to feel The cool, crisp blades Of the dew-covered grass. I feel the energy, the prickling Emergence of interest. The distance between where I am and where I would like to be. I open my eyes, look out over the garden, and smile. By Peter Morgan Tags: The Gap, curiosity, choice |
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