This winter has hit us with such a harsh and curled up fist of ice we are still reeling from the blow. My garden is thick with ice, snow, and branches that were too frail for the elements. The geese
are seen flying in ragged formation, looking for the food they thought should be here by now. Finally today I see the creeping kisses of the sunshine freeing the ice to run off into the sickly land. It is not the sight of Springtime I expect now. I expect robins in the morning, telling me:” See, we trusted you. We are here once more to live out a summer.”
The land must first get well. Must assert itself through the mantle of snow in its determination to thrive. The chairs where I sat with my husband on summer nights are waiting. The stars themselves have patience that we will read their past glories as moments in our evening.
And then the robins hop over the seasonal borderline….the climate re-creates its magic….less each year….but enough for us to hope .