Now that it comes to handing over the garden we made from not much to another couple, we worry what they will do to it. This haibun is for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday challenge, using Magic and Fairy as prompt words.
Photo ©Ronald Saunders
Where did it go the magic in this plot of earth, for centuries breathing between walls built by men? When did it decide to shrink back to the core, to draw in its roots and ravel up the climbing tendrils of growth? Dry now, black loam sucked grey and listless, it bakes in the sun, littered with shrivelled leaf and the careless refuse of hands that never gardened, never used a hoe or a spade. We tried, feeding it with compost and watering the dusty crust, but our tender gestures came too late. The deepest roots are failing, flowers falling and leaves spotted with fatigue. Soon there will be a swimming pool here, and plastic grass for sun loungers.
I never thought it possible to kill the spirit of the earth with neglect.
Dust blows in the wind,
dog barks behind a window,
cars flash past, sightless.