The Gardener

Have I lived enough?
Have I loved enough?
Have I considered Right Action enough, have I come to any conclusion?
Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?
Have I endured loneliness with grace?
I say this, or perhaps I’m just thinking it.
Actually, I probably think too much.
Then I step out into the garden,
where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man,
is tending his children, the roses.
Mary Oliver

Not that simple, actually.
Boy, he's worked hard today - first cleaning out the conservatory disturbing the spiders, watering the plants, washing the floor, wiping the flowerpots, cleaning the windows. I hadn't realised it was quite so disgusting!! Then he's been strimming and has cut down an ancient Berberus. Himself has been mowing and shredding and I have been pulling out yards of columbine and that sticky plant that leaves burrs all over you. Will's announced he wishes he was here another week he is so into the gardening - my mother would be astounded and delighted.