by Scarlet Ostick


The Cronegarden sits
At the top of a mountain.
The winds blow strong up there.
That is the task –
After the storm –
Climb the mountain
Set things upright
Glue the broken pieces
Start over.
For the day
When the sky is calm
The air filled only
With the buzz of bees
And the scent of honeysuckle.

So this is me.

Attempting to find my feet, to set myself upright, after the storm that was the death of my son. I couldn’t have done it without the Cronegarden.

Reuben died in late January 2017. At the end of that February I climbed the hill to my allotment and dug trenches and put my hands, with seed potatoes in them, into the earth. And the earth absorbed my tears, and all the tears I have shed there since and continue to shed there. And the potatoes grew, and we ate them, and life went on despite the many moments I have not wanted it to.

In surrendering to the tides and cycles of the year the earth has carried me through the not wanting to be here. And now i am watching the daffodils and first forget-me-nots in the spring sunshine and starting to feel reconciled.

I couldn’t have done it without the Cronegarden.

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