Rhubarb thrusts thick knobs out of the cold stony earth.

Then the leaves, creased and damp and full of poison,

slowly unfold.

Ruckus enjoys a chipmunk hunt along the stone wall.

The neglected treehouse collapses into mossy dismay.

A forest throne awaits an absent sovereign.

Someday this will all be strawberries,

if they don't shrivel in a drought or rot in a flood.

The scylla flowers are smaller than a thumbnail.

Every year I accidentally step on one.

Then I sit on a rock and cry.

Chive birth ornaments chive death.