standing at the door looking out in the garden for sign of laughter
spring has created its usual riot
and i'm about to miss it
taking care of the soul is a hands on job and i'm so weedy,
overgrown and brambly with thinking
some days i'm half-starved for wonder
its well past time to be digging around, poeming, watering
all the brownish looking things inside...
hoping yet to scratch up green on a deadish stick...
looks promising... will have to work at it. risk sweating.
getting my heart all muddy.
come love. bring your spade.