Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal

The Gardener

Christine Ann Clatworthy


Back door ajar
carpet slippers
striped pyjamas
he stands
meditates
hands on hips
sniffs the air
detects the nip
a hint of springtime frost
the imminence of sunrise

finger to the wind
breathes in the heady scent
of jasmine
sweet mock-orange
Philadelphus
night-perfumed phlox

cups hand to ear
listens
hears a blackbird’s danger call
suspects next door’s cat
prowling in the flowerbeds

frowns
brow furrowed
like a crinkled cabbage leaf
as it shadows umber eyes
savours in his mind
greeting morning
bottom of the garden
in dappled dawn’s first light

watch him
walking up the path
white-tipped cane in hand—
blind since birth
wonder
as he waves
how he knows …
as I wave back
from my window.

***

Christine Ann Clatworthy lives and works from a small bungalow in the heart of the English countryside. Her life-long love of poetry is driven by her passion for her environment, her family, a black and white cat called Chess and the whole of this crazy, wondrous thing we call ‘life.’

© Chris Clatworthy

Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal ISSN 1554-8449, Copyright © 2004-2012