Directing The Unruly

At present, nature’s cycle lays down its campaign—

blue forget-me-nots spread like a polite little carpet,

with purple and yellow wildflowers freelancing at the edges.

It still looks manageable out there—or at least it does from the porch—and I, their General, must command the forces.

The wild animals, aside from the chipmunks and squirrels, are currently occupied with sabotage elsewhere.

We live in the country, bordered by woods and woodchucks—voracious little heathens with excellent tunnel strategy.

Monet would paint this if only someone had the decency to install a pond.

“You over there—yes, you—stop growing.

I’d like you all to remain exactly this height and not flood the front steps this year.

We will maintain peace and harmony despite the seasonal uprising.

Sticker bushes are hereby ordered to retreat and let the front line have its moment to bloom.

Day lilies, front and center. Lilacs, this is your hour—try not to get smug about it.

I need a clear view of the field before the next skirmish.

To mulch or not to mulch: that is the question.

Whether ’tis nobler to trim and weed or to let the ivy stage its slow-motion coup along the side garden remains under review.

Your General is, alas, allergic to the insufferable poison ivy, which looks innocent now but has the soul of a criminal.

I promise to attack the flanks and tidy up soon—tomorrow, if morale improves.”