Herbs in Winter
This morning I pick herbs
from my meager garden.
Thyme, marjoram, sage,
and a purple Thai basil
that transports me every time
its exotic oil scents my fingers.
They have all survived the first frost.
I find them glistening
in soft white coats that later
vaporize into clouds of steam
rising outside my window
like tiny amiable ghosts.
Planted together in a wine barrel,
I imagine their roots entwine now,
give each other strength-
the way living things can do
under the right conditions.
If only we could learn from them.
Grow together instead of apart.
Later today they will blend in the pot
as I add them to vegetable stew,
stir them with a big wooden spoon,
let them simmer, flavors mingling,
ready to sustain us at our evening meal.
Kate Aver Avraham loves words whether she is writing them, editing them or reading them. She has been published numerous times, including her book of poems, Arms of My Longing from Blue Light Press. She lives in Aptos, Ca. at the glorious edge of the redwood forest and is an Associate Editor of the Monterey Poetry Review.
This morning I pick herbs
from my meager garden.
Thyme, marjoram, sage,
and a purple Thai basil
that transports me every time
its exotic oil scents my fingers.
They have all survived the first frost.
I find them glistening
in soft white coats that later
vaporize into clouds of steam
rising outside my window
like tiny amiable ghosts.
Planted together in a wine barrel,
I imagine their roots entwine now,
give each other strength-
the way living things can do
under the right conditions.
If only we could learn from them.
Grow together instead of apart.
Later today they will blend in the pot
as I add them to vegetable stew,
stir them with a big wooden spoon,
let them simmer, flavors mingling,
ready to sustain us at our evening meal.
Kate Aver Avraham loves words whether she is writing them, editing them or reading them. She has been published numerous times, including her book of poems, Arms of My Longing from Blue Light Press. She lives in Aptos, Ca. at the glorious edge of the redwood forest and is an Associate Editor of the Monterey Poetry Review.
