the weight of winter

And don't think the garden loses its 

ecstasy in winter.  It's quiet, but

the roots are down there riotous  -- Rumi

(10)


Every time I sit to write, I delete and delete.  It's like when I'm trying to knit but end up tinking.  And that deleting, just like tinking feels like more than what I've created, but it's not.  When winter and flu season take a turn, when mourning transforms from anguish to celebration, I hope there is still some slushy snow around me, just a little bit.