At Ease And Comforted

Waited weeks to do the chores
that keep an Orchard sweetly tuned.
Wasn’t lack of zeal indeed – a wall of
water intervened. Couldn’t spray for
bugs or weeds, had to gaze pathetically
on rainy days, grew a beard in sympathy.
Today I mowed the unkempt rows with
grass as tall as me; a cosmic task that
leaves a mask of smiling green.

Knocked fruit off some abundant trees,
limbs encroached on crowded rows – it
felt obscene. Weeds in wilt from herbal
sprays we dealt with only yesterday amid
the showers – their end is watched with
steely eyes that glint to see them slowly
die. We are too pleased to feel no twinge
of empathy. We’ll sleep a dreamless sleep
tonight at ease at last and comforted.
© 1 March 2008, I. D. Carswell