Awaiting the dustbowl?

A sunflower sprout, two days old, stretches toward the light

with her shell still attached – hanging on for dear life

We planted the garden two weeks ago when the temperature was 80.

Since then, of course, the weather has terribly regressed.

No rain and relentless wind desiccate the garden soil:

I worry about forest fires and the next dust bowl.

Today is yet another raw day, cold as a bastard.

None of our seeds have spouted –

unless those tiny green dots

 are really baby lettuces.

Inside the plott hound sleeps by the fire

while the sunflower seeds

spout by the big window,

luxuriating in the warmth,

thinking they are in Eden.