Today it is the chives that spur me,
seeing their slender green scapes and leaves
that have pushed up
through the dried clumps
of last year’s version of themselves.
When nothing else in the garden is green,
the chives grow, smooth, bendable, soft,
and yet they have managed to pierce
through the hard spring dirt.
Unwatered. Ignored.
In the aftermath of cold and dark,
they come. And something green in me responds,
pungent and powerful, eager. Ready
to flourish. Ready to meet the world,
though the cold is far from over.
What is it in us that longs to grow
through the previous, dried up versions of ourselves?
It rises, yes, like tiny spears, unstoppable,
bent on thriving, daring us to be
that resilient, that willing, that green.
“…bent on thriving,..” That word, bent, is such a brilliant word choice—the image of the pliable and slender chive shoot somehow still pushing through the dried wintry ground still resonating.
And our dried up versions from previous seasons serve to nourish this season’s version.
ah yes, I like that read, too … how our older selves nourish the new self. so true, friend.