Winters Garden 11//23/23

Winters Garden    11//23/23

Covered in shredded leaves

and some decomposing straw.

Home now to dormant larva

buried deep in the earth

waiting for an inspirational 

warming season.

It’s not officially winter 

but the chill in the air

carrying the scent of

burning wood and 

the sound of frosty leaves underfoot 

beg to differ.

Impatiently I wait for rebirth

like the brown grass along the fences edge 

and the spring crops planted in the fall.

No promise of germinated seeds

rising to words on my pages

fermenting the sugar of a story.

My mind is thick and yeasty

dependant on store-bought fodder 

like the birds wintering in the bushes.

A curious and flighty creature

baren of cause other than survival.

The Garden Is Gone