SPRING

This afternoon, I walked around the outside of my house imagining how the place would look with botanical ground cover instead of mud or snow, which looks great, but I don’t want it year round.  In the back, I retrieved a float that the wind had ripped away from the old shrimp trap I have on the deck. How many times, middle of the night, did I get out of bed and stand out there trying to figure out what the heck was beating against the house?  I’d noticed that I wasn’t hearing that anymore.

I stepped around piles of poop left by neighbor dogs. A cat’s small prints are mixed among theirs. No coyote came by, unless they’re in the canine mix. No bears. No moose, and I had been so sure they would meander through the yard and rest under my deck. No humans, not until today. This is, of course, a very good thing.

On the east side of the house, I saw the tiniest bit of red life pushing up from the mud. Rhubarb is coming back in the spot where there was a huge stand of it before my house was built.

From the person, who lived in a house trailer on this land before me, I have rhubarb and one rusty metal can that I’ve repurposed as a flower pot.

Everything, everyone has a season and a purpose.