-This poem reflects on watering a garden at dusk as an act of care, where evening light, human tending, and summer growth meet in quiet harmony.
The hose runs cool across the ground,
a silver curve through evening grass,
while one by one the thirsty roots,
receive the last light with the rain.
The beds grow dark beneath the spray,
tomatoes gleam, the basil bends,
and every leaf that held the heat,
begins to loosen into shine.
No thunder speaks in such a gift,
no storm rolls down to claim the yard,
just this small weather made by hand,
and offered back to stem and soil.
So much of summer asks for this,
not only sun, but tending too,
the quiet act that keeps things green,
when day leans softly into night.