Like this:

No paradox here, this December dawn–

At first glance, only browns–the dominant hue,

A closer focus reveals

Rich russets, magentas, and viridians–

Whorled patterns of tangled vines and arching berry canes.

Blond asparagus fronds curtsy low

To March’s dense harvest of heady, tender spears….

In the next row, hard neck garlic cloves

Nestle cozily within their deep, dark trenches.

Nearby, stalwart chard clumps wave

Their maroon-rippled leaves defiantly at Jack Frost

While the leek bed boldly beckons–

Sap green stalks standing tall like sentinels,

Full of promise for a savory pot of stew.

Enthroned amid the herb bed–the French sorrel–

Her lemon-scented leaves cascading

Fountain-like to the newly mulched soil.

And, the black-capped chickadee atop the split rail trills his daily aria

In tune with Nature’s resounding rhythms,

As the Winter Garden glows and glistens….

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