As Winter Wanes

 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.