Here there are no pruning shears,
no pretty pebbled paths,
no sundials and marble ornaments.
Here there are no copper chimes,
no excavated fountains,
no watering cans and hoses.
Here there are no prize winners,
no garden superstars,
no horticultural debutantes.
Here there is merely tenacious beauty,
resilience and fecundity,
unfettered and mostly overlooked.
Except by the bee’s map-making and intent,
and by the small birds perching and swaying,
and by the yellow butterflies batting their shapely wings.
And by those few endowed with eager hearts,
open and grateful for every bit of wilderness,
even if it grows all atangle beside a dusty road.
Deborah Barchi has been writing poetry and essays, mostly nature-centered for about 30 years. She is especially drawn to what is simple and often overlooked.
