Remembering the Gardens

This morning I am working on a few things: my reflection paper on poetry and peacemaking, packing and sorting for MN and the U.K., random life happenings, and a poem about the gardens in the Bethlehem refugee camp we visited in June. Only a month ago. All the images came flooding back of the home we visited with the garden planted into the ground, and the metal arch for vines. And I saw in my imagination the gardens comprised of sawed off plastic jugs and handleless buckets. Anything that would hold dirt was used to incubate life. Someday I want a garden like that. A garden that doesn't really care where it is or what could become of it; it climbs or spreads, or stands tall without fear or second thoughts.