The Beautiful Empty Basket

The basket
is empty.

You know
the feeling.

Still, it sings to you, this empty basket.
Crafted. Well made.
A thing of beauty on its own.

A waiting thing,
as you once waited.
A thing of purpose. To carry.
To hold.

But it is winter. There are no crops.
No apples. No sweet potatoes.
Nothing to harvest.
I have been there as well.

Spring though, is inevitable.
And so you take the time.
You plant the seed. You do the work.
All gardens need work
in the off season.

You do the work,
and spring is inevitable.
Some day. soon and slow,
the time will come.
The basket will be filled.

As it should be.

About this poem

Gardens have been a metaphor for so much in my life over the past fifteen years. Bad times and good. Enough different seasons that the line “Spring is inevitable.” has become one of my mantras. Regular readers will recognize it. And if you do, then it has accomplished its purpose.

The picture was taken at the Hancock Shaker Village in the Berkshires of Mass.

Tom