In The Garden

By and by she comes, something mussed and bright, twirling and dipping through buttery sunlight,

Wild grasses flash emerald at her step and swish this way and that, that way and this, as she spins about barefoot in the dirt,

Pink toes explore chocolate truffled earth, cool and apparently pleasant. Shuffle. Flex, shimmy.

A smile rushes forth, tugs playfully at her lips and I see, I know, that she’s enchanted now.

So, my Friend, what is my colour? The one that whispers of my truth, my power.

Can you guess yet? Do you know?

The worm, both fat and thin, wriggles and tickles her palm. She gasps in amazement, such a prize to behold!

She’s a giant among the alliums now, a towering thimble where the sweet peas push upwards , cloying pinks and ecrus and violets.

Silver dandelion parachutes cling stubbornly to her hair. Like them, she is part of a whole, separate, distinct, and now, as always, chasing the wind as it shivers across her skin.

And reaching for butterflies, trembling snatches of Prussian blue, sherbet lemon, and smoky black.

So, my Friend, what is my colour? The one that speaks of my truth, my strength.

Can you guess yet? Do you know?

She peers under daffodils, golden and bobbing; she lifts broad stones, mottled and grey, smooth to the touch, warmed by the sun.

She’s searching for fairies, and magic, and wonder. And, I wonder, what other treasure is found here besides?

Oh! Huntress! My Lady, beware where you step, for buried so deep are dreams, pale and gleaming argenteous among the roots, ready to burst from the dark.

So, my Darling, what is my colour? The one that sings of my truth, my heart.

Can you guess yet? Do you know?

I implore you, my Love, can you guess?