Show me a Garden
It is snowing again.
And I swear that if it ever stops snowing and the great white piles of it melt from the backyard, I will lie down naked in the center of the pocket meadow at the top of the hill, ringed by blossoming plum trees and planted with strawberries. I will lie with my bare cheek and belly pressed against the warm green earth, and I will sleep there every night beside the foxes in their juniper beds, and I will not shiver and I will not shake and I will forget a time when the birds did not sing and nothing could grow. And I will not get up again until I've grown enough feathers to fly south.
If I lay here. If I just lay here.