I turn into the driveway
Negotiating easily
Thanks to 12 years practice
Between mailbox and side rock garden

I pull the car halfway up the driveway
But can go no further
My way blocked by the pile of sweet smelling
Wood chips
Higher than the car
Filling the top of the driveway
Waiting for our shovels and wheelbarrow
To disperse them
So they become
Once again
Part of our garden
Lying low on our pathways
As their parent maple tree
Once towered over all
Despite the hollowness in its trunk

I pause in the driveway
Sitting in the driver’s seat
Staring at the wood chip pile
In front of me
And I laugh aloud at the thought
Of plowing the car into that pile
Burying steel in wood

I reach for my purse
Take out my phone
That is also my camera
Open the car door
Step out, putting my
Starbucks grande mocha decaf latte
On the roof of the car
So I can take a picture
Not of the wood chip pile
But of the small brave yellow
Blooming amid the rocks
At the side of the driveway
Blooming as if spring
And not autumn
Were just now, just here
Blooming their yellow promise
Of another spring
Right around winter’s corner

Between wood chips piled high
And Sternbergia blooming low
I am immersed in joy.

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