It was a rough damaging winter,
Enough to leave marks
That the warmth of Spring won't easily smooth over.
Sometimes a March snow
Is the soft white salve needed
For the first phase of healing.
All those muddied rutted tracks
In the yard where cars
Veered off course
And churned the grass.
It isn’t a blanketing blizzard,
Just a light gauze dressing
(Likely to melt by late afternoon)
To cover the shallow wounds
Before the real work of repair begins.
Shovels and boots and rakes,
Sweating under a hot May sun.
I’ll have to run to the nursery for seed.