Maybe
February
finds you
smashed flat
and tired
as the snow
beneath
your spinning wheels
or buried
in ill-used
tissues
as I am
or struggling
to protect all you own
from the elements
like my soon-to-be-former
neighbors
Maybe you've
escaped
to the ocean
or just
into a good book
maybe you're despairing
another day of cold
and gray
or out snow shoeing
or running
breathing sharp air
that turns your blood
to holy fire
We are all blessed
friends
We are all
alive
and winter is, too,
and spring,
still distant
perhaps
but not
unimaginable
