if the earth,
when frozen and unyielding,
scented by the two notes of acrid exhaust and wood smoke,
intends for the thaw to be so glorious.
For every pore to release
days and days of sweetness in one heady gasp,
and for me,
in perfect time,
to venture outside in communion.
I perform my daily ablution,
rhythmic thump and whoosh of scrub brush on concrete bird bath,
a delicate scattering of seed,
while uttering Hello to all that moves and breathes.
My feet gladly squelch
loam that gives and gives –
It is a good question.