seeds and weeds

ordinarily i love gardening.
rolling the tiny seeds between my fingers
drinking deep the fresh spring dirt and
digging even deeper for grubs...

ordinarily the day is not so stormy
-- nor our moods
with spade and trowell we set out in windy rain to plant
what we supposed were seeds of hope
begging open the soil
we snapped at the weather, then at each other

seeds spoiled, flung, forgotten in a pile of hurt feelings
he drove off and left me sitting in the rain
searching for seeds
pulling up weeds
crying out for growth
and begging the sun to return