Weeding the Seedlings
A frustrating
day.
Ended by the
final cry
from our
20-year-old
rusty push lawn
mower
who decided to
give up the ghost
halfway through
mowing
the overgrown
lawn.
My son is now
assembling
our new one,
which shall
mulch away the
tips of blades
and tops of
broadleaf friends
who volunteer
their growth
above the soil.
I am bending
over twin oak
seedlings
captured in
chicken wire
for their protection,
viewing the
vines choking
their sunlight.
Pulling these
unwanted plants,
I pile them to
the side,
being careful
to avoid hurting
the small
trees. I talk to them
as I perform
this overdue task,
and as I am
coaxing the woven
tendrils from
the wire,
I notice the
slightest movement
at the tip of
one oak leaf.
A baby praying mantis perches,
startled from
my activity.
As I call my
son over,
we look closer.
Two tiny spiderlings.
A pill bug. And
my favorite,
a lady beetle
larva. Who else
have I
disturbed from this
miniature world
in which
we humans
become the
vicious wild
creatures to fear?
Wisps of who
they will become,
my son and I
are viscous, floating
out of time,
imploring our new friends
to find
themselves lost
in the nearby
garden and grow.
The mantis
crawls under
the shelter of
the shaded leaf,
and we leave
the pile where it lays,
holding what we
hope are more
living dust
motes, more tiny worlds
around which we
hover.
Earth, today,
for just this moment,
is generous.
--After Celia Drill
by Julie S.
Paschold
7.3.25