The food they stored
We walked the dogs this morning.
The long walk we call it:
Where the path splits, go to the right,
Up and down the hills to the lake,
Then turn left. They know the way home.
Early spring. Our breathing
Wraps around our heads,
And we shuffle through
The crisp remains
Of last year’s autumn.
My favorite season, once.
I loved the slant of light, the cool smell of trees
Mixed with notes of books both old and new.
Then it was summer for a time,
when I was brash and certain,
And the heat made me bold
And heedless that there were no shadows.
But here, today, by the side of the path,
more than just the tulips are emerging.
It’s chickweed and wild leeks,
Yellow dock and hosta shoots—
Emerging from deep taproots
and hibernating bulbs,
Living off the food they stored.
