Between Season
Spears of new jonquils push through black
mulch beside sweet-green hair of garlic,
nets of shivering rosemary and sage,
leafless stalk of a prickly old climber.
I turn a palm of dark crumbling winter
leaves into damp soil, mix in crushed eggshells,
coffee grounds dried in a ceramic bowl
from a week of mornings. In the latent
garden ferns send furry runners under
cover to network with iris tubers,
bulbous elephant ears, blind-white onions.
If I poke the lean edge of my trowel
into earth, decaying smells of birthing
rise from what lies beneath that skin to mine.
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Categories: Nature in the Cracks
The sights and smells of early spring, and the feeling of connection to it all gives a sense of rejoicing and of contentment.