Hoarfrost coats the loam.
I marvel at nature’s mane
combed back and neatly parted
lose my way in memory
where mind revives summer’s
montbretia, fuchsia, trefoil –
I scout berry, briar, snagged wool.
Idle witness to nature’s flourish contained
my hand divines the way
through an old garden on a cold morning
in the place I’m calling home again –
water breaks earth and is gripped to ice
I press for the crisp snap of it –
for every howl there is a hush –
a careful crunch on rugged ground,
a place to plot again
loved or alive.