To shut out the world, the gardener ventures into the greenhouse
to work on the seed starts–
tomatoes and peppers
and all the things she can pretend she can control.
They are far from cold hardy.
Nor is she.
The gardener presses the seeds into the earth
that she keeps inside this glass shelter.
She sprinkles vermiculite on top of a soil block
and cautiously (and anxiously) waits
for a seedling to poke its new self
above the surface.
It’s a lot like watching grass grow–
just as futile though more fulfilling
for the growth here is a promise that feasts will one day come.
The warmth is also promised to come soon.
She knows her zone, her last frost date,
her time to start anew–
an end and the potential for many, many beginnings.