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Damp earth opens to the light today, Dark and heavy with the scent of old frost. I walk the fence in the early mist, Finding the new green in the dirt. Mossy velvet grips the north side of the oak, A low, green rug for the beetles to climb. Mint-light cuts through the new leaves, Staining the rough bark with a quiet strength. Sharp spears of grass break the asphalt, Drinking the cold rain from a Tuesday sky. Silver ribbons tie the garden to the clouds, Holding the wild world in a tight, wet knot. Nothing is missing; the land is whole. A restless green climbs the stems, And the slow work of the light has just begun. © 2026 QuillandInkWhispers, All Rights Reserved