The monk can look into his bowl and see
What season gazes back into his eyes
And, within that same season – that same bowl
His spirit swirls, combining steam and sighs.
The garden, too, holds up the mirror to
The one who works the soil every Spring
So, looking long at cities underground,
She sees her spirit and what makes it sing.
Musician and mechanic, cop and cook –
All lose themselves in labor they love well,
And in the end know better who they are
By loving work in which they can excel.
In every mindful exercise of skill,
A mirror grows, connecting world to will.


About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
This entry was posted in Gardening, Gardening, Usually Organic, Philosophy, Poetry, Sonnet, Spring, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Mirrors

  1. rita kowats says:

    What a profound image applied in such a unique way. Lovely.

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