The winter was kind to the day lilies
and goats weed this year. They burst wild
showing off ambitious new roots.

It was less kind to that little hinoki
I transplanted in September. Alas,
reckoning begins. I pluck it from the soil.

Birds flit seeds where they may, freeze lines
rise, fall, encroach, the sun bounces off
this wall, but not that. Accident’s

ever evolving swirl leaves me forgotten.
I pick up my taming, trimming, pruning,
tall tales I impress yearly on my garden.