on this beautiful sun hazy day!?
Dark wet soil
hosting flowers and vegetables
hands full with dirt, stones and heavy foliage.
Scraping plunge of hand fork
against distant voices turned up in song.
An occasional car passing.
A baby's cry echoing from an open window.
Slush.
Cold, wet
half melted snow dirty, laden with the mud of streets and roads freezing into gray sheets of ice on the prairies
On the west coast, ice cold sloppy slush builds
even as snow falls in sparkling flakes.
From gray skies onto gray asphalt,
melting into one amorphous gurgling mass
sieving through sodden leaves layered on sewer drains.
Soil, softens and warms to spring thaw
drinks up cold silty moisture that nourishes
daffodils, crocus and tender sprigs shooting from young branches.
My fork loosens stray opportunistic weeds,
shuffles bulbs wandering beneath the soil and
my mind wanders to my own slush pile
kept hidden in a gray laptop memory.
My fingers work the soil
My fingers tap out the words
My mind has been in both places
Intertwining green ideas and green growth.
“My ideas usually come not at my desk
writing, but in the midst of living.”
~ Anais Nin
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