First Gardening Day Of 2014. Poem by Miki Byrne

First Gardening Day of 2014.

Soil turned, rich dark.
Womb for seeds, tiny white roots.
Hands chilled as mud sticks.
Springs first sparse warmth
caresses my neck. Contrasts blossom;
Heat and cold, dark earth, pale skin.
I make holes, , pat down, smooth.
Tuck in delicate tendrils.
Smell earth, warm wood,
fabric conditioner ghosts from my clothes.
Neighbour-noise rises staccato
from other gardens. We are drawn.
All of one mind. Outdoors.
Into the air, under the sun.
Pulled by a new season's subtle force.
Some to smoke, others to talk. I to garden.
Transfixed by the papery pettalled
layers of Ranunculus.
A constellation in a handful of seeds.