Late March
The deck has collected a weight of snow.
How else to describe that body?
Laying flat across the foot of the door
blocking my exit, detailing the railings
as snow swirls on winds that howl like
voices in the channel where roof
meets the walls of my shelter
during a mid-winter storm.
In the side yard, all is buried under white
mounds collecting around naked shrubs
only the tallest plants thrusting beyond it
the boughs of pine trees holding weighty
shawls of snow, dressed for Christmas
cards gone manic, the windows running
with snow melt as I sit indoors
blessed to have this shelter.
The Sound is invisible, only the wharf
a visible shadow between strong gusts of snow
that layer the rooves of neighbour homes
and every branch of naked birch trees
my yard become a winter wonderland
though the seeds I planted in various pots
calmly absorb the light that enters,
even on this overcast day.
My garden begins indoors this winter
each sprout predicting pea or cucumber,
bean or tarragon, spinach or lettuce.
I am trusting in the great cycle of life
planting my wishes in fertile soil
promising water and sunlight and simple
tending to the needs of growing
energy in these greens, this regeneration.