Gardening In The Rain

This piece is called Gardening in the Rain, and it explores the strange, beautiful balm of nurturing new life during a Cumbrian downpour.

Gardening In The Rain

© Veronika Sophia Robinson

The heavy Cumbrian sky breaks wide,
drenching the ancient wall.
Beyond, the meadow blurs,
where wild fells watch and secrets wait.

Yet here I stand, deep in the pour,
aiming the garden hose,
showering the expectant earth,
pulsing water over this newly turned vegetable bed.

To spray the soil while heavens weep
unfolds a paradox, a deliberate art.
The wild rain drums and beats,
while my hand directs a gentler stream,
packing the dark earth snug,
sheltering the fragile, dreaming root,
a double baptism of grace
to anchor every tender shoot.

Rich petrichor rises,
awakening the soil from its patient sleep,
perfuming the heavy, damp air.
It floods my lungs, clearing my mind,
sparking a wild, fierce joy within the chill,
as vital life stirs in the mud
and green leaves quicken.

Drinking, drinking are the tiny, ruffled lettuces,
and fragile, thread-like leeks,
the infant broad beans pushing through the dark,
and pale, hopeful tomato seedlings.
The young sweet corn trembles in quiet faith,
the pumpkin sprouts unfold a sheltered palm,
all small, all reaching,
while the heavy downpour tempers overhead.

So let it rain, and let me stand,
soaked to the skin, completely free,
weaving my intentions into this garden plot,
belonging to the meadow, fells, and tree.

For in this wet, mud-flecked rite,
where sky and water blend,
I tend the threshold of the seed,
and watch the magic break the ground.