#17 Bee Patient

Winter evenings were spent

in front of the fire, thumbing

through glossy catalog pictures

of perfect blooms and blossoms.

Thinking and planning,

she dreamed away the coldest months.
When winter finally decided
to clear out, she waited impatiently
for the last dregs of snow to melt,

then contemplated the yard,

brown and bedraggled with piles
of soggy leaves and long, dry stalks.

Her arms ached to grab up the rake,

to scrape away the mucky jumble.

What she could't see were

the fragile butterfly chrysalides 

and bumble bees, hibernating,

asleep under the leaves,

waiting for May's warm days.

She knew they were there, resting,
also knew it was too early to begin,
softly whispered,
sweet dreams, li'l bees.

NOTES:
This is about my mother, who lived to garden.
It kept her young for years, well into her eighties.
Her favorite winter hobby was looking at the garden catalogs.
They were always a tattered mess when summer finally arrived.