My poems podcast, Words by Winter, can be found here.
When I bought my house, its little city sloping front yard was scrubby grass. Every year I dug holes and stuck perennials into them.
Now there’s no grass left, just phlox and coneflowers and bee balm and Russian sage and baby’s breath and lilies and balloon flowers and on and on.
As the flowers grow and thrive, so do the bees and butterflies and birds and bugs and worms and squirrels and rabbits.
When I read this gorgeous sweep of a poem I thought of how the wolves changed Yellowstone. How the flowers changed our yard. Neither change took much time. This fact gives me some hope yet for the world.