The Gardener
June 28 2023
Hands immersed
in sun-warmed soil,
he kneels over the bed
tending to his task.
The gardener is dark skinned,
in a broad-brimmed hat
and sun-bleached clothes.
It seems he's always there;
a constant presence
you'd only notice
if he wasn't there,
as permanent
as the garden furniture
no one sits on anymore.
He works through the day
never complains.
Is exacting, but efficient;
like an athlete
who has practised for years,
there is no wasted effort
nothing left to chance.
I envy him.
A man who works with his hands.
Has mastery
over his small contained world.
Performs honest labour,
as men like him have
since time immemorial.
I stand at the window and watch,
admiring
his diligence, and dignity.
A gentle man
who speaks little
and works hard.
Who cultivates, tends
takes care.
And under whose watch
everything grows.
Who confers life
and has become like his plants;
flourishing
in the summer sun
and aromatic air,
organically in touch
with mother earth.
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