Books by the old Leather Chair

  • Snow In The Summer
  • My Bible
  • The Power of Silence
  • What Comes Next and to Like It
  • Encore Provence
  • A Year in Provence

Friday, December 7, 2012

An Observation

Just before dark
on an almost Spring like
December evening.

 I cut back some plants
in my garden that is resting.


and think of this poem....

True gardeners cannot bare a glove
between the sure touch and the tender root
must let their hands grow knotted as they move
with a rough sensitivity about
under the earth, between the rock and shoot
never to bruise or wound the hidden fruit.
And so I watched my mother's hands grow scarred
She who could heal the wounded plant or friend
With the same vulnerable yet rigorous love
I minded once to see her beauty gnarled
But now her truth is given me to live
As I learn for myself we must be hard
To move among the tender with an open hand
And to stay sensitive up to the end
Pay with some toughness for a gentle world

~~~May Sarton~~~

I read this poem
thought of my hands
I cannot bear gloves
and the splinters, thorns of the past
and scars
prove it.
Resting from gardening my hands have time to heal.
Hands and nails that were accustomed to compliments
in years past.
At this time of my life
they surely look gnarled
and I might add
ancient....

9 comments:

Elsa Louise said...

Yet, at the same time, beautiful...

One Woman's Journey - a journal being written from Woodhaven - her cottage in the woods. said...

Oh, Elsa Louise
you make me smile this early
morning. So much to do as the
day begins. Best wishes to you this day. Hope family is doing well. I always smile when I see your comments...

FlowerLady said...

What a lovely post and oh so true. I 'hate' wearing gloves, and only do so when picking up brush to be bagged and taken away by the county.

I recently got stabbed by a rose thorn if I remember correctly and that area of my finger swelled up so that I couldn't wear a ring on that finger. I've done this before with bougainvillea thorns too. It was ok in a couple of days.

Have a nice weekend ~ FlowerLady

judemiller1 said...

I don't wear gloves either, My hands are wrinkly, veins standing up, brown spotted and an occasional blood bruise, arthritic bumps, but....they still work and that's all that matters.

Cape Cod Kitty said...

This post really reminds me why I love my own narly hands so much. Each time I glance down at them, I see my grandmother and mother's hands....a great comfort no one can take away. Thank you for reminding me of my treasures on this day.

Lynn said...

No gloves here either unless I’m working with concrete. That tears my hands up beyond the pleasure of feeling what I’m working on. I love the idea of resting with the garden during December. I’m also vain enough I enjoy my nails looking feminine during the holidays. Enjoy your weekend.

One Woman's Journey - a journal being written from Woodhaven - her cottage in the woods. said...

FL, Judy, Marcia and Lynn, thanks for visiting.
Lynn, I understand as I have good nails that others comment on.
Many times - you must not do anything :) They just clean up good.

madwomandancing said...

Ernestine, I love this post, your comments, and the poem. I am often at odds with myself about whether I want to put on gloves to work in the yard and "play" in the dirt. Often I feel a craving to feel the dirt with my bare hands, but I override that with my wish to protect them. I think, though, that, more than the feel of the dirt, I love the smell of Mother Earth. For me it is like perfume.

One Woman's Journey - a journal being written from Woodhaven - her cottage in the woods. said...

mwd - Ellen, thank you. Your words are always special..