Lavender

Some days, you do not want
to wrestle with; you do not
want to try too hard—

you know that even an only
steady rain can beat back
the just-purpled heads of

lavandula: and so you set
the pot to shelter under the deck
awning until the mist has risen

from the trees. You wait until
the air has rinsed to clear,
remembering the Old French

lavandre, to wash, the Latin
lavare, also to wash, as you go in
to close your eyes in the bath.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← ProvisionsLetter to the Underneath →

4 Replies to “Lavender”

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.