The gardens sing a different song each day.
I tiptoe out to see them in the morning as if I’m sneaking
down the stairs on Christmas Day, eager to see
what surprises arrived in the night, never doubting
that surprises would have, indeed, appeared.
I take it as a fact, like the sun’s floating up right over
that hill, right there, still earlier every morning.
Sometimes the surprises stop me in my tracks,
make me suck in a lung full of air and hold it
as I stare, wide-eyed, at some new wonder.
This week, for instance, the blue ruffled irises got me.
But look here, at today’s gift, a scattering of polka dots
that make it impossible for me not to laugh. I stop
and thank them for being such a happy patch of smiles.