Posted on July 10, 2025 by Jenn Zatopek

GARDEN PILGRIMAGE

When I wear sadness like a heavy cloak,
and my foot hums in pain,
I step carefully outside and–

breathe in tiny white alyssums,
pluck off the dead petals of the petunias,
run my hands over the rosemary as I water.
Like a beggar, I come to the garden hungry
and am fed by fragrant copper canyon daisies,
in the silent praise of Mexican coneflowers
turned upward to the sun, in the quiet
that pervades the soft morning air.

If not for the intense foot pain
forcing me to rest–

Would I have slowed down
long enough
to wander around
like a blind woman
and
wonder about love
in flower form,
in birdsong,
in sky?

Image: Impatiens, lavender, oregano, and Columbine in our garden.