The scrappiness of Winter

 


In the scrappiness of winter

there is beauty in the garden,

glowstick bursts of colour,

as if Heaven herself has painted the earth this morning,

reflections of hope,

inklings of spring.



I look to the skies and I see a rainbow of happiness

beaming beneath the heavy clouds

with a promise of more sun shinings 

for the morrows yet to come.

I praise winter for the rains

while birds sing in barren trees

joyous and alive

grateful that worms still wriggle and bugs still crawl

so there is breakfast again this morning.

Yes, the mud still puddles

and the clouds try to frown

while the clouds begin to part and I wear gumboots outside

searching for hope and glory, again,

amongst the scrappiness of winter in the garden.



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