Winter Garden

There is a stillness as I wander

the rows of the winter garden,

peaceful,

waiting for warmth.

Anticipation hides beneath the frost,

content with knowing seasons turn,

patient,

yet eager for the thaw.

The quiet is broken only by the wind

as it causes the dead leaves to rustle,

pretense

of growth and renewal.

The children watch from the window,

curious about my evening stroll,

ponder

what I search for in the cold.

There is a stillness as I wander,

content with knowing seasons turn,

prelude

of what I search for in the cold.

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