I am looking for a new beginning -
yours—and mine—and ours -
in the midst of this mud.
Sky: still raining, as it has for hours.

We are waiting for spring,
for light, a signal to grow.

It lies, massing, under these bricks,
and compost, and newly-nodding shoots
I planted just yesterday:
sharply pruned. Just sticks—and roots.

We are waiting for spring,
for light, a signal to grow.

Stand porchside, dry. Lean out. Bare toes
shiver-wiggling against damp concrete,
hair spattering with runoff
as it flows from roof to street.

We are waiting for spring,

A roundup:

• 10 Dutch lavender
• 2 Provence lavender
• 4 common sage
• 9 sweet basil
• 2 Tuscan blue rosemary
• 2 creeping thyme
• 1 Greek oregano
• 2 lemon thyme
• 1 Confederate jasmine
• 1 yellow jessamine
  

Four common sages;
red, sodden earth—
a herald of rebirth.

Two of rosemary, six of thyme.
Marjoram one, basil nine.

Dig deep, plant yourself in
for strong roots. Let spring begin.
Step carefully to the stepping-stone,
for where your feet currently oppose
is the place the oregano goes.

Lavender holds the border
against thistles and clover.

Point your toes down and grow tall,
tall to the clouded spring sky. This wall
of scented talismans is your breath, your back,
your armor, your proof of power
against springtime showers.

Your measure of relief

This entry written under influence of great tiredness and several glasses of painfully alcoholic apple pie.

It is done—the first of the two flowerbeds, anyway. The end plan, of course, did not look like what I had planned, but I suppose some flexibility's good for me. Rejoice, say my tired muscles. They will ache a bit on the morrow, but not now.

I think we're all prepared for tomorrow's gardening extravaganza. The rototiller and various tools have been obtained. Due to the rain, we won't pick up the compost until tomorrow morning.

Sean promises this is going to be much easier than I think it's going to be. That's good, because I'm thoroughly dreading it.

Kat's mother confirms that she's going to try to get me some of Kat's grandfather's camellias from down in New Orleans. I love this—the thought of having a garden comprised of pieces that other people have loved and cared for makes me very happy indeed.

My first iris is blooming, close to the door. Dark purple and light purple; once my camera returns with Heather from D.C. I'll have to take pictures. Heather has my point-and-shoot while she's out in D.C., but, come to think of it, this kind of work would do better if I used my manual-everything Pentax anyhow.

Today, no work in the flowerbeds, pending the rain that was supposed to show up, but didn't. Unless you count the fifteen minutes of sprinkling we got as rain.

Things are falling into place. Jeff has to be at the airport at 6:00 tomorrow morning. I'll get up, take him to the airport, then come back to the house and plot the day. I'm supposed to pick Heather's father up at the airport at 12:30—Kat is going to tag-team with me. Once Heather's dad is squared away and taken care of, then through various trips Kat and I will secure the needed rototiller and compost for the flowerbed.

After that…it's back to the house, where I'll dig up the irises and put them in pots for the night. That will allow us to get most of the bed raked out before the morning, leaving less for us to do on Saturday.

Getting the holly bushes out on Saturday will be a victory in and of itself.