There’s no one in the garden shed.
It’s rather soon, I know.
A battered rake is on the floor
beside a dusty hoe.
A coffee can holds trowels and tools
that help a garden grow.
An old, blue shirt is on the shelf.
It has a rip or two.
A hat is clinging to a nail.
Its band is sweated through.
It seems the implements of toil
are rarely clean or new.
There’s no one in the garden shed,
but fall is coming soon.
The man who walks among the rows
will whistle up a tune,
consult his almanac and plant
to phases of the moon.
He’ll wear the shirt that needs a stitch.
The hat he will extol
for shading him throughout the days
as he pursues his goal—
a host of green and growing things
that satisfies the soul.

Published on September 1st, 2022