Winter Gardens

The winter gardens are beautiful in their austerity, the raised beds, surrounded by gravel paths are barren but tidy, against the flagstone patio where the wrought iron table and chairs sit patiently waiting for the return of warm weather visitors! The hydrangeas are brittle stalks, lovely in their indifference to the cold, even with the lack of blossoms, only a few dried brown heads remaining, evidence of the profusion of blue last summer. Dormant lavender and sage still stand near the dried lemongrass and hollyhocks waiting for the warmth to return, the land to thaw.  The ground has crystals in it, where frost has attacked and harbored. It isn’t soft, warm and crumbly like spring soil full of moisture and the promise of life. It’s hard, cold, sealed within itself, keeping secrets unseen by our eyes but which we know, by faith, they will  give back to us come spring. Above, the night sky is ringed with a cold gossamer haze cocooning the white sliver of the new moon, beaming gently down on all the gray, white cold of earth in its frozen grasp. An occasional raccoon or opossum waddles through looking for remnants in the vegetable garden, empty of all but a few Brussels sprouts and one head of green cabbage. The air is still, birdsong disappearing into the dark, only the far away echo of cars on Route 136 or Interstate 95 interrupt the soothing peace of night, falling earlier and staying longer in the morning. There is something wondrous about looking at the gardens empty of life, sitting expectantly, waiting patiently, nurturing underground the roots and bulbs of what will be my entertainment after the long winter solstice.