Diary of a changing garden

 

It was another year. 

The past one gutted.

I had forgotten to make continuous diary entries. 

That left pock marks and scars in my diary writing.

 There were few references for much of that year.

I have started again. 

Begun with the same opening sentence from last year for little has changed since my original scribbles  of yesteryear.

Differences were around me. 

The size of the trees, questions why fruit trees did not bear heavily, 

why the weather was so indifferent so changed from previous years. 

 

I will continue with  the same sentence 

because I am hopeful of better things. 

Perhaps it will help me forget the darkness of the past year 

and start afresh with sunshine painted hope.

 

I begin to write:

 I saw the first leaves fall today, November 22^ND

Fall had started with consistence.

 The leaves did not play in the breeze. 

They floated to land, 

lay motionless.

They did not cry. 

I placed my ear close to the ground to hear the silence of their sigh, heard only the movement of green grass

Outstretched arms waiting.

 I smelt the richness of soil.

Did not hear leaves cry. 

More leaves will fall from the big oak 

as the clock ticks into colder days.

Of that I feel sure.

 

Now I will begin with a new sentence each day. 

I’ve promised myself to be more diligent.

 

All this made me think of how forgetful I had been.

Perhaps it is somewhat understandable because there had been no major catastrophe, no great catharsis, no hurricane, just a long dry summer after a short feeling of spring. 

With summer rains delayed 

heat stretched itself to the commencement of autumn.

 

Well, I could have written about that 

Because it had an affect on the fruit trees. 

Their long drawn out pregnancies 

resulted in smaller shrunken fruit,

 and midget bunches of bananas for an endless term 

that stretched into winter. 

That is when they froze, stayed green, 

stopped growing, 

hung bunched up on an extra long stem 

with a small purple bag of leaves 

dangling at the end. 

All frozen, 

all without memory, 

all without colors. 

Indifferent to sweetness

They remained suspended in death.

I was too disheartened to record it all 

Everything stayed a drooping green, 

hoping for another year of life.

 

I don’t really know why I came back.