check the task, ready the mind.

let thoughts mellow and compute

nicely. we will be all ready on the day.

we have a plan, whilst gratitude guides

us. nothing is necessary, except

collars and socks.

some will understand,

while others will not.

it was a hay loft, converted

now, the upper room.

listen.

sbm.

what about this list,

to do it before you die,

we as she said, you probably

can’t do it after. some may disagree

another belief. we try not to judge,

yet that old bucket was not worth

five pound, so i offered two.

old, too enamoured to be

used for rhubarb.

i shall search for another.

there is an old galvanised bath

in the garden.

sbm.

faith in the garden,

that some one will care

tend, the beds, grow rhubarb,

again. a crown is cheap on ebay.

they have made raised beds,

left proper pots littered,

here and there,

an inspiration to some

who pass. a disappointment

for those who seek perfection,

head for disppointment.

buy a little tin for seeds

to keep them dry, buy an old bucket

ready for the fruit patch.

clover.

sbm.

needing refreshment in oswestry,

later rather than sooner,

crept up the chalk painted

staircase, seems to work

well, in this case.

i note the dstressed nature

of the furniture.

this place.

having regular coffee,

a fruit scone will

certainly do,

i listen to the server, who

clasping the china teapot,

tells us revelations

of those who live, who divorce

and warm the pot.

i have to say that

the scone was lovely.

later i bought a potting bench.

sbm.

small path, a right of way,

for me, to go down the back lane.

it is all forget me nots,

i wrote of it before.

i had bought 1000 seeds, black

and tiny,

from ebay, wondered who counted

them.

he is a farmer, will strim

them soon, so i gently pulled

a plant. the ground gave easily,

moles had been tunneling.

i will forget thee not.

he is a farmer.

sbm.

managing? knowing that it will come clear,

gradually, carefully, piece on piece.

they do say, a little help

et cetera, they do say such

a lot of things.

help spurred me on to

sort and tidy, categorise

again.

they do say that it is rubbish,

yet placed in tidy piles, it

becomes most attractive.

they even like the photographs.

sbm.

tides are higher now,

flooding the paths.

he walked the mud,

bringing the footsteps back to us

. we mop the floors, when the rain stops.

if you leave the boots to dry,

the earth will knock off, neatly.

there was a parial eclipse, the tides are high.

he was a gardener.

sbm.

thread your way through,

place the ends for the birds.

they ask nothing.

sbm.

1]

[ re written]

have you collected seeds
of many years, packed,
labelled, dated.

have you died, and left
the table unprepared.

i have them now in boxes,
a gift, from those who love.

they will bring me work, joy,
an independent air, profound words,
from those who care.

sbm.