We wait for the crabgrass and dandelions and wild onion
To shuffle aside the fall leaves, our feet crunching
What has died, our attention focused on sun and wind,
The beauty of not-yet-spring, oh but almost, almost.
You climb the bluff and discover the tortoise shell,
Bringing it to me like the gift it is, the best of this land
That holds us, surprises us, enchants us into believing
Any season is enough. Though any path could leave us
wanting, I know it is enough. I know you are enough.