IN THE KEDGERAY GARDENS
Fieldstone and boulders, rows of
rhododendrons, a catchall basin of
ferns and water - lamplit by sunlight.
Those things are all OK by me; I have
a scrumptious mind for fantasy. On
maps, the Morristown people say
'Cross Gardens.' They can call it such,
should they so desire, though that
catches nothing of the flame and fire
of such a wild and growing place.
-
I keep my average thoughts to myself,
and only go out with my wilder ones.
Were they to build a bridge to some
alternate versions of Heaven or Hell,
I'd gladly walk it, just to see. I spot a
slinking cat beneath the hedgerow in
the nearby sunlit meadow. That's nice,
the distance and the difference. Mice?
No comments:
Post a Comment