I don’t know that the Buddha
ever said to his followers,

Go make a garden and then sit
amid the greenery, preferably

in warm afternoon sun, but
there he is in mine anyway,

looking as if he belongs there,
his beatific smile mellowing

out all the plants, not to mention
me. And even though it’s

nowhere near morning, I do
a few standing sun salutes

because I can, feeling all
kinds of lovingkindness,

because though it’s truly fall,
it feels like gentle summer.

And like the squirrels planting
peanuts in the begonia pots

on the deck, I’m storing up
warmth for winter,

ready to unearth it when
the cold and wet arrive,

reminding me to be grateful
for what comes then, too.