There’s a damp feeling of cellar to the spring.

Always a dark sky to be felt in the offing

with silent memories of thunder,

and mud abounds.

It’s the sort of thing you take, though,

when your back has had it with cracking

from the weight of the snow you lift or blow.

The pagan dread I feel some days

at the feel of life reviving

gives heft to the eagerness of sorting seeds

and planning forest walks with boots on

and rising hope for our companion.

February 24 2021