Today the snow swirls,
scraping an early mosquito off
the window screen.
“April” the robin calls,
just before the wind shoves him headlong
into the cover of the cedar.
I could lay out my raised bed gardens,
fill them with icy compost,
the coffee is hot,
and my ink pen moving over graph paper
whispers theoretical sunshine
and dream-time green things.
I don’t kick at the drifts—
I will just add dark chocolate to the cookies
as I sketch out another garden plan.