After summer brought strong winds
and heavy rain, leadened the skies
and tied the light up in a bag
that it burst with a handclap
to bring more rain, I thought
the garden would be a wreck
but it’s not. Somehow it’s survived
the onslaught and today has even dressed up
in its finery. And though the chill northeaster
snaps through the sapling and flings
a sparrow sideways, though it swipes
at the pool with a sideways slap
and sets a mad ghost howling
on the swing, the garden’s standing
its ground, defying the weather
with its hands on its hips and a bright
lipsticked grin. It won’t be beaten down.
It’s determined to win. Because here’s
its suitcase thrown open on the grass
the contents scattered, a fluttering
of colours, the rag-end of rainbows
waiting to be gathered and hung out to dry
and to flap in the breeze like the laughter
of bats. And the garden laughs too
and shakes the drops from its hair
and throws its hat in the air
to make a sun in the sky.