I Do The Work To Become Anew—A Poem

Growth is hard work. That’s something I think no one can deny. Anything that allows us to shift and get stronger is a slog in the middle.

I found myself resuming the required work of that lesson recently.

After the terrible winter we had, I lost one of my massive beloved raised container gardens to rot and age. It collapsed early this week— an emergency, really, to get it off of the deck before more damage occurred. The new containers arrived a day earlier. So, I got up at 6 that morning and got to work.

As is my mode lately, I hauled soil in the quiet and tried to listen for whatever needs to be said. The wind seems to be delivering all kinds of inspiration for me right now. Or, maybe it was the roots of the plants, the dirt, the rocks. Or my aching knees.

Working became yet another meditation. I totally admit that I was miserable. It hurt to be working like that. My knees and bones cracked and popped. I yelled at myself about a thousand times over for the mess that lead to this clean up.

However, the conversation that took place with the soil and the plants, the roots, the broken pots, everything, really let me stretch beyond my crap attitude and serious discomfort to see the work for what it was—contemplation. Growth is hard work, indeed.

Since then, the garden honestly hasn’t seen much attention. April in Vancouver has offered up one rainy day after another and I do little more at this point than stare out and wish for sun. Soon enough, I suppose, I will do the work to become anew.