It is spring in my heart.
The Maples have budded and
Crocus has pushed through snow.

I have nothing to do but wait and receive the warm days coming.

A moment ago I was a winter storm
all my fields wind swept
trees all sleeping
waiting in silence for the earth to turn her face
to the sun.

In the
in between
is the magic.

And that is where we are

It is near impossible to believe in warmth
When January winds blow across dead white landscapes.

The memory of that long chill makes this the sweetest joy.