March 12, 1993
Primavera for my mother Though you did not feel a breeze, the leaves drifted down around your feet to form a carpet of decay. You raised your hands to stop their fall, but you could not keep them from their deaths, and I saw this, and I remembered. Perhaps there are winds we cannot feel that move us with their breath. You are the most capable of gardeners, and I know that for you that the death of the leaves is a gift to the earth, and that the bulbs you will plant, fingers digging into death, into earth, will flourish and grow to move you with their grace.
© Jessica Minier Mabe