Morning Meditation
I’ve been watching the tomato
potted on my deck, pushing
up and out its lush laterals
deep into summer and lacy as a fan
climbing and quivering across the cage
guiding its expanding explosion
into such green, so thick, I nearly despaired
of flower or fruit. And suddenly – it seems –
abundant late-growth yellow spurts
cluster toward shy small orbs of promise.
We all need both sturdy base and time
from which to create what feeds us.
swb
Profound, Sarah. Thanks for the poem! I’m also growing some tomato plants, but instead of climbing regally, they were flopping and expanding horizontally. I’ve since pruned them back and am looking forward to the fruit.
Thanks for stopping by, Jennifer. It seems like they grow very differently one from the other . . . Good luck. Nothing like fresh tomatoes fresh from your very own vine!!!
Beautiful morning meditation, Sarah. I will add mine.
My feet walk onto my 3rd floor porch
My wrinkled hands need to touch my flowers
My weary eyes reach for the colors
Purple, yellow, red, orange, and pink
Do you need a drink this morning?
Singing birds harmonize their praise
My porch friends house a soul
My nose smells connection
When I’m dry I need drink
When I’m scattered I need pruned
My daily community work looks annual
Put together to be perennial
Teach me to let go
How to gracefully die to birth new
Weed out what is death dealing
Lean into what is life giving
This daybreak ritual
I can’t live without
my pilgrim walk can be measured in inches
What it feeds is perpetual
Oh, Bonnie – that’s lovely! I love ‘when I’m scattered I need pruned’ and ‘work looks annual put together to be perennial.’ Above all, ‘gracefully die to birth new . . . lean into what is life giving . . . what it feeds is perpetual.’ Just beautiful. Thank you. I knew that taking time to write this morning would be healing; who knew it would double itself through your own words. Gratitude abounds.