time well spent

My sister accused mother of loving her flowers more than she loved her children,
then screeched  into the house.
Bewildered, mother stared from under her wide straw hat, muddied hands momentarily stilled from their weed-pulling task.

How can anyone get all fussed up in the shade of the corn?
The thought came as she was transfixed in the
sparkle of golden silk tassels trembling in the breeze.
There in the oxygenated air of damp rich soil,
mixed with the green of growing things
This tumultuous tantrum dissipated into a tiny thing,

For here she was on her knees between the green snap beans and the sugar peas
with a burgeoning bag of weeds to ensure her garden’s propagation.
Flowers more than children?

Lavender-pink cosmos nodded in their lacy green leaves, with the sweet scent of white baby’s breath tangled at their feet.
Plucking tender leaves from some burnt orange nasturtiums,
she savored their distinctive flavor
Even as she breathed the spicy scent of the petunias
where she was now deftly pinching spent blossoms from the stems.
A patch of purple pansies kissed with vibrant yellow gold
next received her gentle smile and ministrations.

Standing, she leaned into her back, stretching bent muscles,
drinking in the profusion of colors displayed in banks of fiery flowers.

Clipping three perfect pink roses, sharp intake of breath.
Salty sweetness in the droplet of rich red blood mixed with grainy Earth,
she licked the pain away.

“These are for you, my dear.”
Extending the roses to the pouting child,
who even in her petulance could not withstand the proffered pinkness.

A melting moment imbued in memory with sweet rose perfume,
Quiet healing,
The blush of sister’s cheeks melded with the roses,
Garden gift of peace and  grace.