Linda Studley

Garden Dreams

Garden dreams start early.

Barely out of January,

I imagine the earthy tang of potting soil,

the cool sweetness of spring rain on my tongue,

the weathered roughness of terra cotta pots

beneath my fingers.

In my dreams, tangles of clambering peas and beans

twine themselves Heaven-ward,

waving their white and red flowers to flag

down wayward bees.

In my mind’s eye tomatoes hang heavy,

onions and garlic tilt their lances at the sky,

and the greens march crisply, row on successive row,

out of the garden and into my salad bowl.

Then into my dreams floats the scented glory

of roses, the rioting rainbow of hardy perennials,

the colours of laughter and abundance and joy.

Do not wake me from this reverie too soon,

at least not until the seed catalogues begin to sprout

in frigid mail boxes.

Garden dreams start early.

#201