Easter morning, fog gradually dissipating.
Soil gradually drying after a
Cooler, wetter March than is
Typical for this part of the world,
My second gardening year here.
Multiple seasonal harvests are possible
When there’s enough moisture for irrigation.
Just ending, a Lent of voluntarily cutting back—
No meat, more vegetable protein,
More varied vegetables as well.
Soups and stews that matched the
Atypically chilly weather.
Now, a seasonal transition—more sun,
Fewer storms, more widely spaced.
Time to put in tomato seedlings, maybe.
Time to consider what other warm season veggies
Might put down roots in this nearly-new-to-me place.
After a cool season of media vitriol
And exaggerated claims of victimhood
And crisis, a relieved exhale at fuller reservoirs–
Short-term apocalypse averted.
Whether we are transnational or transgender,
Whether we’ve moved cross-country or across the street,
Be we behaviorally inclined toward transactional, transitional,
Or translational interactions, we each have seasons
Of feeling transplanted, not quite fitting.
Then we remember, sometimes belatedly, the redemptive
Character of this resurrectional season.