Buds of Mahonia Blossom

Buds of mahonia blossom,
fetal curl at the center of sword fern,
infolding, downturning hellebore,
furred clasp of magnolia sepals,
camellia’s embryonic swell—

while the garden slumbers,
I burrow under blankets,
knees pulled to chest,
arms tight-wrapped,
like a December bud,
sleeping—becoming.

The earth is a pregnant mother,
gestating through the darkness,
crafting, creating, building
the next generation
of flowers and fronds.

I, well,
sometimes the world is too much,
and I slump
like sodden leaves
under a rain heavy sky
at dark winter solstice.

And,
I nurture hope
the best I can,
inward smiling at the acronym
my young friend used,
a compliment to her sister:
“I’m grateful for your UPR”
meaning, thank you for your
Unconditional Postive Regard.

May we all practice such a stance,
generous allowance
for the tenderness
of each other,
like the generosity of
a December bud
holding potential at its heart.

I mimic an
Oregon grape inflorescence
loosening into bloom
under the low angle
and faint warmth
of the winter sun,
opening my heart,
to the world,
ready now to give
and receive.