Seed trays fill the window sills;
from each cell bend two sprouts
seeking the source of light.
I double-seed lest some don’t take;
this year they’ve all come up.
Bristling in their cells.
I sketch their futures on note paper;
each year, the garden’s different.
according to my whims.
Herbs in front of feathery carrots,
tomatoes beside the garlic.
Though the sun’s rays warm my skin,
the frost still comes at night;
I wait impatiently.
Moving seedlings to bigger pots,
my forest of miniature trees;
I dream of the middle of May.
Seedlings burgeon; a miniature forest
I wait for the seed leaves to fall
and dream of planting day.