enfolded extravagance

The absolute tangle of a wild forest
disordered like my daughter’s hair
after a fight with supper
squelching with little beings
everywhere
half of them hungry for blood
dominates my window.

The roses are beautiful and
unreachable
guarded by impenetrable stands of stinging nettle
as if their own thorns were not armour enough
(they’re not - their scent is too beautiful)
and the wind waxes and wanes
between the clouds and the reflected sun
of the marsh marigolds
and the miniature forest of moss
where the imaginations of my little ones grow and come to life.

I cannot possibly identify all the plants
in one small yard of undergrowth
too rich, too plenty by far
one million shades of green
False Solomon’s Seal is fractured white like paper from a small child’s scissors
sudden tiny violet
or knee high rockets of blue columbine
the fuchsia of the small wild raspberry blossom
and purple vetch and yellow buttercup
all trumpeting each individual’s rich wealth -
the ability to turn light into gold
light into all the colours of the rainbow

I feel silly, looking at all that jungly whispering life
worrying.
It’s hard to think that God would provide sparingly
in this parkland where even poor soil sprouts
too much growth to walk through
In the warm cloudiness today
with happy hungry mosquitos everywhere
and the peculiar echoing quality to the birdsong that speaks of an enfolded yard
I have to listen and feel that these sounds are for
me.

They are to tell me that this
God,
of this planet,
in this corner of forgotten wilderness
loves
extravagance
and covers the thorny bushes that cannot be reached by anyone
with a wild sweet froth of
roses

See how the lilies of the field . . .