My gardens call

I cannot write

And so, I must indulge

I step outside

And breathe fresh air

I feel emotions bulge

I find hand spade

A four-pronged claw

And old green garden chair

Old blue clippers

A short trash can

Old tools without much flair

As daffodils

And crocus bloom

In early spring stampede

I tidy up

Last season's blooms

Which birds have stripped of seed

And when my back

And arms grow tired

I sit upon my deck

Tall trees afar

Are red with buds

A sign of spring's new trek

I feel release

Of winter's grip

Despite a cool stiff breeze

As birds trill songs

For mates to come

As seasons shift and tease

As earth renews

New life evolves

I feel a small release

As winter ebbs

And spring rolls in

I feel a little peace

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