How she knows she is not useless yet:Old cornstalks must be shattered rightWhere they stood green, to feed worms
She knows are waiting in darkness.Her hens wait too, for water, for feed,Especially for deadnettles, nipplewort,
Kale and comfrey. Some hummingbirdsNow arriving check the lilac for theirOwn nectar bottle that hung thereWhile last spring, summer and fallSlipped past. There are wasp queens
She finds sleeping in her woodpile;Her heart skips a beat as she seesEach one, for she fears them, yet
Interests herself in their rest andSafety, for the good they do her garden.
Now she mucks out her barn, forOf her things she values rich mulch, almostTo distraction, most. But slowly;
Under beams and eaves hang cobwebs,Sacs of eggs suspended in each, waitingEnd of winter, not to be disturbed.Lest she forget to serve all equitably,Every bucket of soiled barn waterShe carries to her trees to tip out: Something to stave off drought.
Yes, she's earned the right, she thinks,Even in this so solitary place,To call herself an asset to her friends.