Walking in the Toronto Botanical Garden

I turn into the garden freshened by morning rain

Inhale a damp, earthy smell.
Photographer with tripod blocks the path to the right.
I go left
Discover old chap rooting out last year’s rot and freshly sprouted weeds.
Usual suspects
Dandelions. Burdock. Stink grass.
His brow beads heavily with sweat.

He grunts as he flicks a dog turd at an unsuspecting pooch.

Casts an admonishing glance at the owner. I move on.

Bees are buzzing
Hovering over intoxicating purple spring wonders
Crocuses, flowering plants of the iris family
I take the mandatory picture
Of all things purple.
For a friend, Mary(notcontrary)
Noting to send later.

I shuffle to where a crowd has gathered
Watching a painter
Capture with deft brush strokes
What they too will grab with the swift
Push of a cell phone button.

Tai Chi is in full swing too.
Quiet movements of fluidity…

A child points in the direction of the garden cafe
Screams bloody blue murder
I want ice cream. Chocolate.

Not Neopolitan! Puts his foot down hard, grinding it in the gravel.

Kicks a stone into touch but is
Ignored by his parents who
Search for a particular shade of red rose not yet bloomed.
Or perhaps a way out?

I find a quiet place to meditate
Let the next lot of garden lovers
Have the path to themselves.
Free to observe
What I may have missed.

Hughey poet

Congratulations on the poem. Words as painting. A lovely evocation of pictures in a garden.

Julian Mulock, artist and illustrator, reacts to the poem.