This morning, I’m in the snowy garden assessing the remaining kale. As I lift the limp leaves, crusty snow crumbles fall into my boots and around my sockless feet.
Walking back to the house, my daughter’s outside in a t-shirt, feeding her chickens leftover popcorn.
Kale, garlic, onion, fennel-sweet sausage for a savory soup. Mid-December. Take heart.
We look at the world once, in childhood.
The rest is memory.