There is no deep forest
to explore
No high desert
chalky sunset colors
purple and peach
No great expanse of lawn
dotted with morning deer
grazing
No gardener’s palette
and beyond
a creek or
the staying summer sea
There is only a yard
surrounded by a decrepit fence
creaking in the night breeze
a hole dug for a pond
full of weeds
a few tomatoes
But the winter compost is
rich, black and hot
and steams through the frosty day
And the children still come here
to play.
Thanks Kathleen, very nicely moody. And transporting. I believe I may be in the yard now, feeling the frosty air and smelling the rich, black and hot compost…
Thanks John. I love that we both share an appreciation for moodiness.