still winter

sometimes, the windows are bright rectangles leading out of the dark room, giving visions lancing into the distance of trees, houses, birds, skies. in a moment, though, the squall blows through, and the hole becomes a soft white blanket shifting furiously in the wind.

it's still winter, i remind myself. the disorientation of the seasonal time shift hasn't slipped from my grasp yet; i easily lose track of how long i can wait before the sun sets. it's still winter, because the floors are so cold i almost cannot bear to stand. it's still winter, even as buds push desperately for an ever-clearing sky.

the clouds part again, and the sunlight smashes into the earth. i can pick out birds nests and dog crap and upended lawn furniture. but it's still winter.

13 March 2018 21:59