Greenhouse at the Edge of Winter

At dawn the conservatory breathes against frost, glass ribs clouded with the sleep of tropical leaves. Outside, the river clicks with thin, black ice; inside, a banana flower opens like a lantern.

Gardeners move between beds with kettles of warm water, steam rising around their boots in pale orchestras. On each fern, droplets gather whole small weather systems, miniature storms deciding where to fall.

A child presses a forehead to the pane and watches koi write orange commas in the pond. Beyond the gate, the maples rattle their bare wrists, but here the soil smells of rain not yet arrived.

By noon, sunlight pools in the metal gutters. Tomato vines climb the wires as if reading music. When evening comes, heaters hum like distant ships, and night keeps one bright room for spring.