wintering

I’ve put the gardens to bed

and shored up the chicken coop.

I’ve stored the tools and stacked the pots behind the shed.

I’ve left the last of the coneflower dead heads reaching toward the sky,

in case finch and chickadee grow tired of the wild seed mix from the local hardware store.

I peer out across this tiny farm then turn slowly and head towards the house.

As I walk up the stairs, I begin to peel off layers of warmth,

first the gloves, then the scarf then the hat.

I set them to rest on the pew bench at the top of the stairs.

I put on my favorite warm socks and curl up on the couch

with my robin’s egg blue blanket that took two seasons to knit.

I am wintering.

I am resting in the comfort of my spirit.

I am reconnecting with my soul.

I am working my way back to self care.

I am wintering.

And come Spring, I’ll be ready to tend to the gardens and to the fruits of your spirit again.

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