A friend of mine, also an adoptive mother, recently blogged about the sad state of her garden this year. She's got her hands full with her own baby girl while she mothers some foster children too. I'm full of admiration and empathy, having thought of the foster route myself. Anyhow, I was thinking of her tonight as I inspected the sad little harvest from my own garden and this popped into my head. This is specially for you, Harmony. I hope you like it.
My hands are full of a different harvest.
Once, my garden was full of blossoms in the rich soil
Bursting forth with leaves and buds
Vines that wound their twisted hands on wooden gates
Fruit and pod abounding.
Now the beds lie still
Solemn rows beneath the azure sky
And sleeping soil.
Here and there a restless bud, adventurous leaf, a ripened fruit
Not dead, only waiting for the new harvest
New beds, now made indoors, are filled with other seeds
Row on row of smiling cheeks
Curly tumbled heads and shining eyes
Sounds sweeter than the summer wind.
My hands are full of gentle things
Wee ones growing fast
A sweet harvest of love.