The Invisible End of Winter

There is nothing in the temperature or the landscape
that you can point to, only a belief
that the ice jam from the long winter
is about to break,

that the next time you come this way,
perhaps your last journey,
it will not be the same and
the river will flow eagerly to the sea.

About this poem

About winter. About the ice jams common to the rivers around here. About something in the air that feels like change. Poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken from a train car. The Connecticut River on the way to New York City.

Be Well. Travel Wisely.

Tom