As winter slows and we look to spring, LENNDEVOURS’ Poet Laureate, Christopher Watkins presents a piece about what this time means for grape vines that have been sleeping during the cold months. One LastBy Christopher Watkins One last hurl of winterfor the sleeping vinesto unknowingly withstand; One last morningof vivid, blinding beauty—sunlight caroming off snow slicks—and the dirty days that followas the oily trucks tattoothe banks built upalong the salted roads; One last fire for warmth; One last reminderthat the world’s not at our mercy,that our mercy’s what we plead forat the door of Mother Nature’s busy home—darkened by our…