It is not even spring
and I daydream of the wildness
of the late summer garden
when everything rushes
to show that last bloom
where I can go and understand it all
that feeling of the shortening days
I know the necessity of this
-before it is dark
and the night is frozen

Maybe that is why -

I am resurrected
in the blooming of the snowdrop
the tulip
the daffodils
the aconites
rising with the longer days of sun
on our way to another season
of growth