In Your Garden How long it takes sometimes to value a gift--the way I only now recall a night after work, a too-long meeting to no useful end, standing in your living room reciting my endless supply of blues. You listened well, as was your talent, and long, as was your mercy, then grabbed me to deliver a thousand watt kiss. There was nothing of romance in it, but everything of friendship, warm acceptance--an overflow of pure exuberance. Still, I blushed to my socks to receive it and blushed again at your delighted laugh. But I did snap out of it for a while. To lighten so those brooding, drink-darkened days when I could be no better than a half-hearted friend to anyone, having given the other half to oblivion... Even now there's much I'd just as soon forget-- but, forgetting you--I'm so very sorry. Seeing your name on the board in the sanctuary, I came here to see what kind of flowers you grow. The fiddlehead ferns are lovely, half-unrolled behind the daffodills. The grass is just now green and the apple will blossom any moment. The bench is warm, the sun mellow, and all my regrets are sweetened by your kiss. © Dale R. Hobson. All rights reserved.