The Blues

Unable to
reconcile a relative of
the onion growing among grape vines
I was quietly digging clumps of allium
(wild violets, and a lone coneflower sprout)

Maisie sat nearby
alternately keeping a carpenter
bee at bay and eyeing
the delivery man walking towards the house

I settled into the rhythm of
digging. loosening. pulling.
there is a therapeutic value to the outdoors
and repetitive tasks of the garden.

Digging. loosening.
pulling. who
needs an ashram? when one is
already surrounded by God’s temple.

A low, dull drone
(not the bee)
broke the silence
and in the blink of an eye
became an ear-splitting roar
emerging from the tree canopy above –
four slick navy jets in diamond formation

Just as quickly they were gone – but
during that brief moment
I remembered a whole other lifetime..