february

I am still unaccustomed
to the spring sun shining
down in February after so
many years of snow on snow,
nor have I grown to grasp
what is already growing
in our yard: gentle shoots
of promise, tree buds of
tenacity, but I do know
enough to dig and clear,
to rake and remulch,
to prune and prepare . . .
and then come inside
smelling like hope,
like the good earth,
and already hungry
for the vegetables
I have yet to plant.

Peace,
Milton