Thursday in the Garden

(A tribute to N. Nields on her Birthday)

It’s Thursday night and darkness falls on Prospect Street.

In the yellow house on the corner, a group of writers meet.

The building is tall, quiet and Victorian,

Nobody would guess what is happening within.

The tea is hot and cookies are piled,

Muses fly around, showing they’re wild.

We all take our places, some sink into the green couch.

Pens poised above paper, fingers on keys in a crouch.

With a prompt and a blessing we fly at our work,

Nerissa in her chair, one leg propped up by books.

The loon clock wails and Cody will bark,

An ambulance comes, passing the park.

Who knew what magic happens in this house painted so bright,

Synchronicity gets passed around, tossed through the night.

We share and laugh and give fragile egos some strength.

Our unique gifts can emerge proudly, praised at such length.

And we take home the comments, knowing we’ve done well.

I like to think it helps us be better writers, and people as well.

So thank you for your warmth, encouraging and hospitality,

For infusing our writing and our lives with your special vitality.

You have set the stage for writers to reach their best productivity,

And with your love and insight you plant the seeds of creativity.

And from all this grows the gardens, and our writing souls renew,

So three cheers to your home, these writers, and YOU!

-gh

6/9/05