It's the waiting time. Each day now will be longer than the last. I'll flip through seed books and dream. I'll walk the garden in the frost and plan.
I've been letting Robert Frost speak my heart. Today (for Dad) we'll hear from Emily.
The murmuring of bees has ceased;
But murmuring of some
Posterior, prophetic,
Has simultaneous come, --
The lower metres of the year,
When nature's laugh is done,--
The Revelations of the book
Whose Genesis is June.
-Emily Dickinson
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