Latitude

That which is free.

Nature sows! I am at liberty to reap.
All this beauty, freedom, this lush garden growth!
The vines hang heavy with cherry tomatoes,
peppers are the essential color of life,
leafy lettuce is shy yet faces that morning dew.
And the carrots loll beneath the surface to await the sun.
These vegetables escape their prison seed.
My feet slightly sink in this nitrogen-rich soil;
my garden flourishes, the winds carry microscopic seeds
where they, too, find their way in the world.
As I lean on my hoe in this life-giving garden,
I gaze beyond the edge, past the rusted, wire fence
and into the gently rolling field that fronts the lake.
And there a gang of geese mill about like convicts in a yard.
I watched them, some of them, grow from goslings.
They have pecked and gnawed at the provisions of the land.
Like the bounty of my garden, like a subtle wing,
beneath all the sky, evident and free.