Today was only about our third warm day in Minnesota for the season, so I took advantage of it by doing some spring cleaning out in the garden. Mostly I raked out old leaves that blew in last fall and that provided some insulation to my babies as they started to grow this spring.
Raking old leaves off new plants is bittersweet for me. This year’s perennials are popping up, which is thrilling to see, but last year’s remains are so . . . dead. While changing seasons are the most natural thing in the world, they also bring a constant cycle of birth and death, then rebirth and death again.
For the Anniversary of My Death
by W.S. Merwin
Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Like the beam of a lightless star
Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what