The snow is melting, slowly.
The ground grows soft.
It is not yet spring.
No, you are too old and experienced
to believe that.
You have seen the tease of seasons past.
You have felt the bite of winter’s return
after a respite. You know better
than to take this brief spate of warmth as gospel.
It will pass, and soon, perhaps as early as tonight
the ground will grow hard once again.
God’s seasons will not be denied. No you will not believe,
You will take this day, and breathe the warm air.
You will stand in the sun, with your eyes closed
and bask in it, feel its heat on your eyelids.
You will walk. You will listen to the sound
of ice cycles melting and falling from the eves.
And it will be enough
to get you through.
Enough to survive the last cruel coldness.
Enough perhaps, even to flourish,
to bud and let your own color peek out, just a bit,
yet another sign of spring.
About this poem
The last two days have been warm here in Vermont. Forties yesterday. Fifties today. After an early nap, I took a walk while the sun still shone. I felt its heat. I listened to the sound of winter melting.
It is a good time. Quiet. Life slowly moving towards something better. Even my demons have been quiet. This all will pass of course. There is winter left to come. But it was a good day. There was warmth. And memories of spring lit my day.