A sunny April day in late January.
A warming strong wind the past days
erased the remaining snow, dried the ground.
I took tea outside and read new poems.
Buds watching me chuckled over my joy.
Before the cold hits, I collect seeds
from fleshy fruit – heirloom tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers –
and annual flowers – petunias, marigolds, zinnias, impatiens.
Hope in these last warm autumn days,
that I’ll be planting again next spring.
A snowy border to this August field.
My morning walk at late summer pace.
A queen’s lace or a common weed,
a wild carrot – a matter of perspective –
A clear horizon, lacy blue and white.
A hot, humid, summer in spring day.
The peonies drop their heads like us,
but theirs are heavy with peak blooms
and we are still hoping for buds,
new growth, a cooling rain, night rest.
The three dry months meant no floods.
We made our own rain each evening
for flowers and vegetables, top-coating the soil
with a wet darker brown, but never
deep-soaking enough to really change the world.