Love the cold wind,
The threat or reality of a snowstorm,
The particular orange light at the end of the day
(When only a month ago there was no light)
Signifying we’re on our way to the vernal equinox.
Invariably the setting sun lights the underpinnings of charcoal clouds
With a softer version of the fiery orange
That turns sand, the western sides of wooden structures
And birch tree trunks into artworks.
Hope and rebirth are still deep under ice and snow,
Fantastic lakeshore sculptures hiding the plain truth;
Spring is around a long and muddy corner.
