Winter, and Christmas time in particular, brings out the sentimentalist in me. So here's a poem I wrote the other day to celebrate the tenacity of nature.
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This Tuesday morning is as cold as Monday
Swept up in a drift of three days uninhabited
The smell of a barn long vacated
I swing around the corner in a white Ford
Looking for signs of weekend hooliganism
None to see, just piles of leaves
Piles of leaves shaped like a mini Kilimanjaro
Her head amid gusty clouds
Except here its restless leaves rustling
And I stop to reconnect with the first heap
Not the most important heap we have
Just the first one I see on this Tuesday morning
To see if it’s steaming, water vapor rather,
To see if it’s vaporing away like it should
Like it did yesterday morning
It is my rock, my one true thing, my Kilimanjaro
This first pile of compost I see
Decomposing because I came to work, once
Regardless of how my weekend went
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Happy Holiday.
Be safe.
Make Compost
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