My family enjoyed one last traditional breakfast at the house in North Saanich and said goodbye. After at least 15 years in the family, the house first owned by my late grandmother has been sold. I felt at odds with reality — we'll come back here in the summer and eat breakfast in the dining room and lunch in the yard, right? I had trouble believing that this meal we gathered for in this room, with the round, dark wood table with the blue fabric-backed chairs and tiffany lamp overhead, smelling a certain way and most definitely feeling a certain way, would be our last. I was more in tune with that feeling than ever.

I wondered for a long time why climate change deniers existed. Maybe, I thought, because the truth is scary and requires us to change our ways — not a comfortable request for a society so deeply anchored in business as usual. While it's true that climate change is indeed frightening and changing ourselves can be met with resistance, the actual reason is that there is a handful of very wealthy people who stand to lose a lot of money from the societal shift required to prevent catastrophic climate change. The rest of us, well, what we stand to lose by doing nothing can't be measured in dollars.

On the weekend I attended a vegetable gardening workshop at my local urban farm, hosted by the lively farmer, Gavin. It was an informative session on seed starting during which I figured out why my tomato seeds hadn't germinated. He took the small group of us on a brief tour afterward and had funny (if not sometimes tragic) stories to tell about the arugula (sown somewhat erratically by a teenager and now bursting with leaves under the tent) and disappearing carrots (slugs are voracious). It's only half an acre — tiny compared to UBC Farm's 60 acres. But my hope is that this small model of local, urban agriculture will get people excited to grow more food in their backyards, or on their balconies, and support future urban agriculture projects in the community.

The air smells divine
I am outside
Reading in the square against a backdrop of multilingual chatter, medical school students practising multi-syllabic terminology, and the rhythm of water flowing down the stepped landscaping.
A distant airplane, the screech of tires and engine rumble, bicycle clicking.
The warm air is punctuated by a breeze,
pushing,
retreating suddenly,
twirling then releasing my long hair.
Flowers and leaves not here last week flourish next to trees just budding out.
I think I desire ice cream.

Seeds in the soil,
I wait, hoping conditions are right for germination.
Rockets and green zebras sprinkled in egg cartons.
A light on in the oven to warm them.
Is it too warm?
And I let them dry out.

I wait for little plants to sprout,
for tiny leaves and stems to tell me,
congratulations.
You did it.

This is me learning, tempering my ambition.
I will be tending to gentle life,
Springing forth from fertile soil.

Away for the warm weekend,
I returned home,
peeked outside and a joyful smile
exploded on my face.

Three tulips whose colours were previously unknown
bloomed in hot pink, hot pink and yellow, hot pink and white
in varying shapes and scents.
"I love them!" I exclaimed.

And across the street, the tree that has always looked beautiful
was topped with a bounty of magnolia blossoms
with more to come as they open in a cascade downward.

The willow is greener from afar, its tiny fledgling leaves glowing in the sun.
A forsythia I never knew was there reaches for the sky.
I wait for the other trees outside to leaf out.

Is that a pea sprouting in my garden?
Garlic scapes grown taller while I was gone.

My first spring in my new home
delivers me all kinds of sweet surprises.

I'm attempting to participate in NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month.

I know it's spring
when the air is fragrant —
    cherry blossoms and ocean breeze,
    freshly cut grass,
    plants breathing
the sun seems to have sprung
higher in the sky.
those little unknown seedlings that over time will take shape,
slowly growing and unfolding into — ah! — whatever they become.
home smells new, with the
scent of warmth and life.
short sleeves and bare feet,
soles dirty from the grass and garden.
shadows, still long, appear for a longer day.
it's time to put toques and scarves away.
(at least on the West Coast.)
winter has passed the torch of time to spring,
to light up the daffodils, tulips and magnolia,
the hyacinth, camellia and forsythia,
and others the sun is still beckoning.

I'm attempting to participate in NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month.