The Old Timer by Chris Black

He stood leaning across the wooden fencing
drinking in the bright multi-colours of a field in full
bloom. A field festooned with wild flowers, purple,
red and orange, in fact all colours of the rainbow
and then some.

 Years of hard graft and now a comfort in old

age, flowers were his passion, whether growing

wild or in his hothouses. People came from far and 

near to purchase shrubs, potted plants, flowers to

adorn graves, wedding bouquets, and blooms for

all occasions. Return visitors year-on-year placed

orders for ceremonies in graveyards throughout

the county and bordering counties. His personality 

was an attraction as much as his flowers.

 Living alone and ageing, the business was 

becoming not so much a burden as a hobby. As

well as earning him a good living, it gave him

something to get up for each breaking dawn. The

arthritis, now that was a problem. His hands were

beginning to stiffen up. All the bending and

stooping was playing on his mind. He was also 

becoming more forgetful day by day, which was

frustrating. Leave something out of his hand he'd

spend half an hour looking for it, only to find he 

planted it earlier.

 It was getting close to decision time. No one 

could make the decision for him. People could give

him all the advice they wanted but, at the end of 

the day, he had to make the final choice. So there

he was leaning across the wooden fence pondering

his life or what there was left of it. What should 

he do? Where would he go? One sure fact, he could

not stay around and see the business bought and

then raised to the ground. Or watch people come

and go on a daily basis, purchasing his flowers as 

though nothing had changed.

 House and property went on the market as a 

single lot. A chapter of his life was closed. The 

thought of it was breaking his heart. What had he 

to look forward to? A future without flower gardens

to tend was not something he ever anticipated;

now it was quickly becoming a reality. Feeling tired

and emotional, he retired for one last night in his 

home.

 They placed a wreath of flowers from his 

beloved gardens on his grave, two days after the 

sale. 

the earth is a living thing by Lucille Clifton

is a black shambling bear
ruffling its wild back and tossing 
mountains into the sea

is a black hawk circling
the burying ground circling the bones
picked clean and discarded

is a fish black blind in the belly of water
is a diamond blind in the black belly of coal 

is a black and living thing
is a favorite child
of the universe
feel her rolling her hand
in its kinky hair 
feel her brushing it clean