Write of spring,
you said.
And all I could think of was a corner of the yard
Where in summer I tossed grass clippings and peach pits
and orange peels
Where in autumn I threw coffee grounds and wilted flowers
and buried a dead bird
and covered all with desiccated leaves
Where in winter I heaped up pine straw
and flung out stale bread
and dropped wet tea leaves that foretold the coming
Rite of spring--
The sifting of rain through sand and crumbled clay
The folding in of loam with seed
The turning of the graveyard of past seasons that welcomes
Wright of spring.
Questions, unquestioned discoveries, and answers in parable and rhyme…. This collection records a journey starting with a 1960s retrospective and the first man on the moon, moving to a new millennium welcomed in with a terrorist spin, family crises,
Be always safe,
Karen