An Observation by May Sarton

True gardeners cannot bear a glove


Between the sure touch and the tender root,


Must let their hands grow knotted as they move


With a rough sensitivity about


Under the earth, between the rock and shoot,


Never to bruise or wound the hidden fruit.


And so I watched my mother's hands grow scarred,


She who could heal the wounded plant or friend


With the same vulnerable yet rigorous love;


I minded once to see her beauty gnarled,


But now her truth is given me to live,


As I learn for myself we must be hard


To move among the tender with an open hand,


And to stay sensitive up to the end


Pay with some toughness for a gentle world.

                     ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Since selling my house and moving a year ago 

 and still living in temporary quarters with my

 daughter, it is the first Springtime in my adult

 life when I don't have a flower garden. I miss

 my peonies especially, and my huge climbing

 rose which should be radiant right now. 

 So I have no beautiful photos to post here this year.

 Instead I am posting a collection of Impressionist

 women in their gardens for you to enjoy!