In the peak of the heat a remembrance of the cycle...
As Winter Wanes
As winter wanes
her blue veined fingers
work the seeds
into compost cooked
from cold months
of scraps and steam.
With old faith
in ancient cycle
and new day
she fills up
the tiny greenhouse
with tomorrow dreams.
The soil and seed
make love and heat
while sun and freeze,
and rain and wind,
and winter and spring,
compete.
And then with leap
in shoots and leaves,
and silence
that is not shy,
the stubborn urge
gives birth.
Now the hands
that cradled
loam and seed
as they have caressed
my surge and need
move to planting.
With cultivator,
bent back,
muddy fingers,
warm whispers,
and ancestral heart
she sows the starts.
And one more time
she and Earth
and her generations
wager on revolve,
and trust in nurture
and rebirth.
