“The Gardener’s Last Light"

 “The Gardener’s Last Light"

By BR.Giga

Loss arrives in strange ways, and at stranger times.

I was listening to one of my old YouTube playlists when “The Garden” by Rush began to play.

I sat there in silence, caught by the weight of it, the beauty, the calm acceptance, the quiet farewell woven through every note. It feels even more prophetic now, knowing it was Neil’s swan song in so many ways.

The last track, on the last album. And in my opinion, one of their finest.

As the final chords faded, something stirred, a small, familiar ache of gratitude and loss.

So I wrote this poem for Neil. In his honor.

Please enjoy.

For Neil:

I tended the years like soil,

turning them over with calloused hands

a life measured not in wealth

but in the green that chose to grow despite me.

Every season gave me something to love and to lose:

the faces of my children rising like dawn,

the slow decay of laughter after supper,

the ache that came not from labor

but from love doing what it must , ending.

Now the machines hum like distant bees

beyond the hospice window.

My veins, those faithful rivers,

narrow to tributaries of silence.

Still, I feel the sun, patient, kind,

warming even the parts of me I thought forgotten.

You learn too late that time is the true gardener.

It prunes without apology.

It waters what still believes in light.

And the weeds , God, how they teach humility.

I remember every hand I failed to hold,

every word I swallowed out of pride.

They grow here too,

among the lilies and rusted tools.

Even regret, when left long enough,

blooms into something almost beautiful.

When they ask if I’m afraid, I say no.

Only curious

what becomes of the body when the seed remembers its root?

Does the ache become song?

Does the silence open its mouth and sing back?

In the garden of my chest

a single petal falls.

It lands on the breath I still owe the world.

I close my eyes,

and the air tastes of rain and forgiveness.

If there’s a heaven, it must look like this:

a patch of earth where all my seasons meet,

every joy and sorrow taking turns in the light.

And me

still tending,

still learning how to let go

without breaking the stem.