Just In From The Garden
A short poem "At Twilight" - - - -
Coolness comes at the wrong end of the day.
Why should we crave sleep in the morning when it is cool, and only have it when it is dark?
I'm in from the garden, tired but not yet content.
A late, light supper will suffice; not the hearty meal of my ancestors who worked regardless of the heat and sun's rays we are now taught to fear.
I miss the sitting around with the after dinner telling of and listening to stories from family members' memories, the oral histories of their age.
The stories would eventually slow, and by some unspoken agreement back then, we headed to our separate beds, satisfied that another day was over.
I'm not sure I'm that satisfied any more; tired yes, somewhat content, but satisfied?
I have the sure knowledge that not just "the children in far off China and India" are too often going to their beds hungry, or sick, or fearful, or "all of the above," but that children here at home often do, too.
I don't need the TV or radio with its "buy this and be happy" interludes to tell me the world is no better, maybe worse, than when stories and memories used to be shared, back before instant notifications about some celebrities latest cover photo, low fashion, and most recent divorce were paraded disguised as modern living..
There was something of the "olden days" still lingering in the garden I just left, as the same twilight of those days struck the chime of my own circadian rhythm.
Fragrances it must have been which stirred my thoughts out there. The sunset and twilight did the rest.
American families seem smaller these days. The kitchen stoves are electric or gas. Even fireplaces come in their own "buy and be happy" phoneiness, at best stirring memories of real fireplaces that snapped, crackled, and popped down to glowing embers instead of the canned seven seconds rotations of artifical flames.
Did we lose "real life" somewhere along the path called "progress"?
Or is it still lingering to be harvested in gardens at twilight?
Copyright 2014 Demas W. Jasper All rights reserved.
An anytime prayer....
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see:
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
(Alexander Pope 1688-1744)
A link to those "good old days": (See below. V)
(just click or cut and paste)
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Do you ever feel that by gardening all you are doing is raising stronger, healthier weeds? Here is a short "misery loves company" poem you will enjoy.
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Regardless of where a relationship starts, communication is essential to preserving it, just as a garden hose is essential to getting water from the faucet to the garden areas where it is needed. This article compares caring for a garden hose, and ca
What life was like in those "good old days" when family was everything.
- Life On A Maine Farm In The Good Old Days
What was life like on a Maine farm in the 1930's? Here is a quick sketch from that time.
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