Cursing the Weeds

Cursing the Weeds

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

Post Date: July 2016