The day’s wind has died
Dust rises from my hoe
And falls in place.
The body is tired,
But at peace
In the rhythm of work,
In the calm setting of the sun
In the midges wafting like ghosts
Through the silence.
Heat gives way to cool air
And the scent of the sea.
Purple clouds glow orange
At the edges
In a turquoise sky.
I pause to rest,
To listen
To breathe
The smell of my garden.
I should stop,
Go inside,
Wash the dirt off my arms and legs.
One more minute.
A few more weeds.
Then one last gaze.
The peas glow in the gold
Of the evening sun.
The onions stand proud.
The lettuces reach up in supplication.
I see it
And declare it good.
