A pair of poems from the spring garden.
spring expectation is a blanket on my garden soil time it is to make room for new life prune, compost the dead for the earth is pregnant time it is to prepare for expectations mine is a northern soul bred and refined in the seasons of swelling and contracting, living and dying my days are marked elliptically each turn is flowing with expectation and so 'tis time to heed the warming days time again for burgeoning joy turning the dark soil, shortening the dark nights this miraculous annual genesis time it is for fecund expectations to watch and wait is a great gift a wonder of quiet awe and robust laughter time for preparation, cultivation each turn of the wheel brings it round yet i will never tire of this season of expectation
who is that paints my garden
who is it that paints the rainbow in my garden in golden light and lemon candy raspberry and royal purple in green, blue, red, orange, pink in spring? is it you, old madam hare, with your slow, solemn gaze in brown eyes, brown velvet and so buddha calm? or you robin-red-breast, cheerfully singing in the twilight in sable and rust plumes? or have you with sharp ears, sharp eyes caught sprites or spirits with ghostly palette painting the rainbow in my starlit garden? i have not seen, or heard but i am too hurried and not quick enough. i have not heard, or seen who paints in my spring garden but it gladdens my heart all the same.
©Elizabeth Anker 2021