Watering gun

I am standing in a large garden

lost

holding the watering gun

the wrong way

wetting myself

not the dry earth

It is mid summer

the brassicas have gone to seed

wild weed flowers abound

And I wonder

what is still waiting to erupt from the soil?

If I spray water

here/ there

what might show itself?

I cut back the espaliered pear shoots

in the dying twilight

my fingers feeling for

last year’s nub

where she was previously cut

Summer pruning saves on winter carnage

I dispense love through French secateur steel/

sharp and well oiled blade that knows its craft