They’re gardening boots now...

They’re gardening boots now
Stained only with the dirt
Of my small raised garden

Seeds unsealed from plastic
Await a proper burial
Reminding me of a past

That still weighs on my heart
But gives me hope
For the possibility of new life

Reading Buck's "The Good Earth"

"The Good Earth" comes to mind
As I mow my yard and think of “the land”
This is my land and it’s not much
But I work it with sweat and care when I can

There are more weeds than grass
But I enjoy the variety that my neighbors lack
With their absolute uniformity
Of changeless blades

I add nothing to it that kills or coerces
Things that the liver must clear
To maintain the body’s health
But may revisit with sickness years hence

My son plays here where bunny burrows hide
Strange and varied flowers grow where they will
It’s my land and it’s not much
But I will not subjugate, only steward