this is spring

​I am disarmed by the beauty of spring,
in our friends' garden 
there is too much to gaze lovingly at 
or smell sweetly or soak newness in -
blossoming trees, bulbs, bush and thicket,
and everywhere the bees! 

I dig away at garden beds
I planted out months ago
in faith - before we left
that I would return for a harvest
and in the meantime my friends would see 
something growing where the ground had been dry,

it's hard work breaking the clay,
pulling up overgrown radishes
and strangled beetroot seedlings,
on my knees I grab handfuls of weeds 
and grasses nudging up around healthy
cabbages, fennel bulbs, kale, celery -
I am filled with glee at the thin garlic tendrils I spy, 
I imagine a bountiful purple clove harvest 
(but am prepared for nothing special)

then, I find treasures -
in amongst the leaves are broccoli heads 
mauve purple and lime green;
the colours only heirloom seeds can bring,
in between clusters of grass
are tiny strawberry plants 
planted seasons ago -

I water and listen
my small companion chicken chasing
or watering can dancing
above me the sway and shhh of grey gums 
whispering,

this is spring