The fire is dark but still creaks like an old floor. Now and then an ember drops.
Outside the park still damp from the first rain this year on the plains. I pray for more.
In the vegetable garden I have begun to lay mulch. First the greens: weeds and kitchen scraps. Then the winter-frozen leaves and pine needles. Then repeat: one layer after another, until I’ve used them all up, until it’s deep enough to support a seedling.
The energy of spring
will soon give way to the pall of summer heat.
All I know now is, there are never enough tulips. And never for long.