Beneath the winter debris,
spring is stirring.
I found it in the garden this morning.
In the chilly air, it lay concealed
beneath crumbling russet leaves.
Garden phlox, the boldest,
has ventured an inch above the ground
threading through bleached skeletal stalks
of last year’s abundant growth.
My patient, questing eye detects
the cautious crimson tips of the peony
pressing their way through the earth,
and tender green leaves curled and unfolding,
baubled with sparkling drops from a recent dousing.
Lily of the Valley
I revel in their promise and their presence
and their names trip off my tongue
like a pagan chant or an ancient blessing.
Warming my heart.
A call to the gods of nature.
Spring is stirring.