Winter Gardening

The garden tools

  hang now in the shed

    spade rake hoe scythe

  beside the burlap sacks

    of potatoes red & gold

 and the braids of garlic

   hardnecks & the soft

  shed their dry skins

on the swept floor


Out in their beds

  beneath the comfort

    of the black compost

  another season of garlic

    already lies fast asleep

  tiny cloves point at stars    

    flashing green & red

  in the gardener’s eye

anticipating spring

“Thine emulous fond flowers are dead, too,
And the daft sun-assaulter, he
That frighted thee so oft, is fled or dead:
Save only me
(Nor is it sad to thee!)
Save only me”

~ Robert Frost

About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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