IN THE GARDEN

I wake in the morning to stiff, overworked fingers refusing to bend, my lower back achy with tight muscles, and puffy eyes from pollen. I slide into a dressing robe, make and drink my tea, and enter a hot shower. I wash the pain away, and emerge clean, fresh, ready to start again— I refuse to let the soreness stop me from working in the garden. I deadhead constantly, before springtime ends, I remove over-crowded plants—offerings to another’s space.

I love my garden; watching each new shrub, tree, or perennial unfurl its leaves and then open its flowers, but removing the dying flowers, scattering across the stone-covered ground, is hard. I am obsessed, but it is meditative, restorative, and even joyous most of the time. But I forget to tell myself it is a lot of hard work until my limbs cry out in agony.

FLOWER POEMS  Elizabeth Jane Pryce 2025

The Purple Tree Peony

Lit by early morning sun,

It is the first plant I see

exiting my door

The large green pot

like a garden itself

Standing on wheels allows

rain to seep through.

It has a companion pot

tucked into the corner, 

Another peony, I thought, dead

But I see a new leaf, 

This spring!

Purple Vetch and White Daisies

A narrow trail winds 

Seductively through shrubs, 

hidden from the wide road 

Nootka roses poke ragged 

thorns through fence rails.

As we walk, the warm sun 

fades into filtered light. 

It plays upon a stage of 

moss-covered fallen logs and 

ferns—forest underlings.

The aromatic scent of lemon balm 

wafts through the air; 

elusive on the path’s edge.

Blushing, foxgloves, 

nod in a light breeze,

and small birds weave 

through quivering leaves.

Greeting hikers on 

the trail’s steep slopes;

we turn sideways, 

my grandchild and I. 

At the top—a surprise.

bright sunlight 

floods a wide meadow of

mixed-colored grass

tall around our knees,

a melting pot of golden gorse

hides suburban houses. 

Purple vetch and white daisies 

dance in the glow.

BOOKS

I’ve read a few heartbreaking books lately—The Indifferent Stars Above, the Harrowing Story of a Donner Party Bride, by Daniel James Brown, and Answer Creek by Ashley E. Sweeney, an interesting retelling of the same tragic story.

Now I am moving on to reading a book by Anthony Doerr. About Grace is his debut novel about a man graced with the gift of premonition and plagued by a dream foretelling his daughter’s death. I read Doer’s Pulitzer Prize-winning All The Light We Cannot See and loved it, if one can really say, “You love a book about WWII.” 

My other books sitting waiting are Horse by Geraldine Brooks, and The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared, by Jonas Jonasson. I’ve read it before, and I’m excited to re-read it again. It is a novel about living life to the fullest.