He is pruning the privet: the seemingly never-ending saga of change in a garden

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Please read this poem—that is, if you have the time or inclination. I know that poems don’t speak to everyone, so please, give it a try. I’ll understand if you don’t.

I thought for a change of pace I’d share it since it’s about gardening. (But yes, you’re correct, it’s about much more than just pruning.)

He is pruning the privet (a poem by Joanne Kyger)

The poem says everything I’d like to say right now. I could not find the words, they found me. I’m tired, but am still able to seek. That’s reassuring. As I near 40, I’m feeling my age and am waking up from a medical stupor, stupid illness I fell into at the age of 18.

Rip Van Winkle never prepared me for this.

Change and time is growth, and sloppily, wearily, messily, we’ll all keep pruning too.

It’s what we do.

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