CAROL J. LANG
(1944-- )
Retired Security, K-9, Corrections
Disabled since 1996
(from injuries suffered in a fall)
Author of children's stories, prose poetry
Needlecrafts seamstress
Fenton, Missouri

THE KEEPER


Sunshine awakens the somnolent garden - - enticing new petals
to open. Honeysuckle vines ascend the coal-black lamp post - -
drinking in the manna of dew drops. A virtual plethora of color
and fragrances tingles the senses invitingly. Pineapple mint,
lavender haze, garland phlox, blanched purple butterflies no
longer than an inch. A cherry tree watches over a "Buddha"
shaped oasis of lush green grass - - with the breeze creates
an illusion of perpetual motion - - soothing to the eye

But below terra firma there lurks dormant evil. The henchman
weeds wait quietly - - biding their time. Savoring their mighty
sovereignty - - they wait to desecrate, mangle and devour this
fragile Eden. Midst all this beauty - - fresh flora lie ready to
be sacrificed - - their newborn hair roots - - as delicate and
fragile as an arachnid's web. Lovingly harvested plants are
cognizant - - that like an oak tree falling on a sliver of balsa
wood - - their tender new growths may die fighting, losing.

But this year the malignant core of writhing, cancerous weed
roots finds there will be no killing by stealth or strength of
fresh new flora. This year the army of murderous weeds will
be plucked from their safe-house - - soon to meet the new Keeper
of the garden. This new one is not to be reckoned with. She
is enraged - - seeing nature's beautiful juvenescence turning
puny and withered. Sending vibrations of fear to the chthonian
enemy, her vituperative tongue lashes out in denunciation.

The Keeper appears void of emotion as she quickly annihilates
weed after weed. This uncompromising, unyielding Keeper laughs
- - cachinnating deliriously - - beating tthe now-intimidated enemy.
With no compunction felt, this Keeper doesn't cut to the ground
for a semblance of cosmetic beauty. She allocates sortie after
sortie of clawed fingers or metal tools - - exhuming the roots - -
spewing her disgust. This angst belies this Keeper's gentleness.
She strives unconditionally to save nature's pure beauty.

Soon, after daily scrimmages, she conquers - - triumphant. Her
work is done. The once-unyielding, writhing beasts lie dead.
Nature's colors spring to life - - the enemy ostracized. Fresh
fragrances once again tingle and soothe the Keeper's senses;
her presence commingles with the opulent landscape. Like
a victorious warrior on painted pony, she retires to her parlor for a
tonic of green tea. Raising her cup in celebration, her spirit now
tranquil, the Keeper is first and last, an impassioned soul, now at peace.

Carol J. Lang