At winter’s end the thaw unfurls—
snow sighs away, exposing mud:
brown earth, matted jute, a coil of string,
a seed packet emptied of its promise.
The gardener’s tools—glove, snapped stake—
lie like punctuation across the beds.
Rain knits the ravelled twine to root;
wind braids leaves into a new script.
What was discarded reads as pattern:
stalks turned brushstroke, burlap turned cloth.
If beauty is making from what remains,
then this mosaic of fragments is praise.
Spring comes with small, exacting hands;
we learn to call the leftovers art.
Discover more from The New Renaissance Mindset
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Interesting read.
Thank you… What did you find interesting about it?