Christmas Ghosts

Smacked down by post-Christmas blues,
ghosts come to haunt us.
Christ born, and still there is no peace.

I am waiting, as always, for Easter
when ghosts must leave
with the coming of the springtime sun;

budding trees, early flowers,
quiet hours,
fingers deep in soil.

Or I also might have said “in soul”:
pulling weeds, clearing out dead plants;
trying always
to again make whole
what winter with its scythe has crippled.

To again dig holes
for seed and for greenhouse seedlings;
tamping down loose soil,
providing the needed water;
watching as plants grow,
as once they might have in Eden
before man took hold:

thus, make amends,
if not to God,
then to carefully caring for this earth
until it ends.