Coffee and Stilettos

in all truth.
i didn't want to get into the garden today.
life's had me stretched thread-bare.
and i didn't feel like tending anything.

but my thoughts drifted.
to little roots growing bound in sprouting containers.
and seedlings.
yellowing.
drooping.
out-growing their space.

and then i thought of salads.
fresh.
lush.
garden salads.
and salsa.
and steamed collards.
and the smell of fresh onion.

and out i went.
rolled sleeves.
and worn gloves.
to the sleeping garden.

and as things usually go.
once i was out there.
i was alive.

falling familiar.
into the groove of soil tilling.
and row plotting.

i settled all my seedlings.
and started fast.
on the dandelion harvest.
collecting just enough blooms.
to start infusing dandelion oil.

i found.
long fallen and forgotten.
an old knot.
from my uncles cherry tree.

and inspiration struck hard.

i saw that knot.
sanded smooth.
beeswaxed.
and laden with figs and cheeses.

a new woodworking project.
developing.
in the seconds.
as they passed.

and then the southern wind.
brought wafts of lilac bliss.
from the bush in the corner yard.

i ran.
barefoot.
to its branches.
and snipped an armful of blooms.
for the kitchen.


***

from my reluctance.
birthed forth.
and afternoon.
saturated.
with deep.
cleansing.
fresh air breaths.
and wild doses.
of percolating.
inspiration.