At Peace

I’ve often wondered why it is
I feel so at peace
in my garden…

Today, as I walked through the flowers
I realized that they hold more beauty
than the eye can see.
The wild rose doesn’t think
it’s special because it’s pink;
It doesn’t care that the
blooms next to it are
much more prominent
in their flashy flesh
of vibrant oranges and perky peaches.
They don’t yell “hey, that’s mine”
when the bee gently takes what it needs.
And the bee, in return, does not take
anything it doesn’t need just because it can.
They never say “get off my back”
when the weary butterfly
rests on their fragile shoulders, and
when I choose the ones I admire most
to adorn my kitchen table,
they neither resist nor obnoxiously insist
“pick me, pick me!”
Finally, when they are done, when their show is over
they don’t shed a tear and ask “Oh God, why me?”
they gracefully fade away
passing the gift of life to another year,
another generation.

I’ve often wondered why it is
I feel so at peace
in my garden.

© Shirley Allard 2006