It's three years now since the hyacinths were set along the gravel walk, and columbine mats in tangled masses in the corner plot this spring. soot-smudged web films veil the hanging rows of bulbs, wrinkled and dried to nothingness in the shed. The tools, their rich patina dust-dulled, die too - die slowly in rich red rust. The formal order's gone now, or going at least, before the writhing, creeping motion of unleashed growing things. The growing things return, as they will, to the abandon of chaotic beauty unrestrained.
Manuscripts: Vol. 14
, Article 6.
Available at: https://digitalcommons.butler.edu/manuscripts/vol14/iss4/6