(for Katie O’Rourke)

The Garden Goddess on the corner
is collecting the fallen, arranging
the downed and brown around
the base of a tree and allowing it
to do what comes naturally—
turn itself into compost.

“You make your own dirt,”
observes a woman who likes
to periodically drive by
the GG’s corner to appreciate
the profusion of plant life, as I do,
awed by year-round cosmos,
by hydrangea blossoms
in November.

The GG nods and smiles.
“Yes, I do,” she says, citing
the money-saving benefits
of homemade dirt.

But I think she is offering
more than beauty on her corner.
She reminds us that, in this
season of releasing, of letting go,
the fallen become compost
for new growth later.

And that, if we can be persuaded
to loosen our tight grips,
if we can interrupt hate with love,
we can watch life grow from decay—
someday participating in that
bit of recycling ourselves—

if we just get out of the way.