enough room to breath

when we free the garlic from the too-dense matt of winter mulch so it has enough room to breathe
spring air and extend its fingers and toes, and so do I now, both of us me and garlic sticking out our noses just a little bit farther to smell
spring

walking home sloshing through puddles in dark green boots, seeing shades of light green dark green middle green poking out from all of the corners of the street and sidewalk and a pink child’s sunhat laying in the middle of the road
getting rained on.

the pink halo that I see from far away around a tree, and come to find is actually hundreds, thousands? of red flower buds blooming
on the maple

on the day that february decided to be july

on the day that february decided to be july

i drive k and e to the train for their adventure south just as the sun is
rising

i drive home from the train and thread my way through the morning mist

i arrive home to empty the bucket of maple sap from the tree in the yard into a pot on the wood stove (still unlit) (too warm)-which makes five pots of varying sizes- all full to the brim with maple sap, waiting. to boil.

i put on leggings and sneakers and run around the block because it is already almost warm enough for a t shirt, and i see j who is also running, so we run together for five minutes.

we drink maple sap in the open doorway.

all before breakfast.

the red winged blackbirds come out and I see them in the garden and the air is thick with shorts and tank tops and rushing river melt.

i press send on the seed order for the plants i’ll tend in the spring.

the chunks of ice shrink in the shade.

i go to bed before the stove is ever lit.

the cooking pots of sap will wait for tomorrow, when we light a fire, when it is winter again.