In late winter, the sun begins to take back his territory
Those mornings without snow or rain are bright now
Not summer’s ripe yellow light, but sparkling white
The shifting shimmer on the rustled surface of the thawing river
The bare tree trunks, white as they stand on hillsides
And at the river’s edge.
We think of winter as only a long slog
But how many winter days are like this one
Where we may walk through the woods unchallenged
By snake or spider or biting bug
And see the sky through the bare branches above
And revel in the warmth that our exertion brings
And think of tomorrow’s blossom.