This is the month of repetition. Cousin Mary Lee observed it in her haiku diary. Fellow Poetry Peep Michelle suggested teasingly that she thought perhaps, based on the poetic themes one can see here these days, that someone might be the tiniest, mildest bit obsessed with her garden. (…I do wonder who that might be.) In all candor, of course it’s hard – especially in these days of near-sameness – not to keep pouring out the same paean, but a funny thing about seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night – they tend to endure, as it were. And thus my obsession with the waking Springtime world continues unabated. I’ll try at least to focus it a bit… and kvell today about my strawberries, which are awful just now, no matter their hue. But soooooon…
tastes tart with pre-season sour
presages sweetness