Winter
January, and I find myself aching
for the soft, earthy world of Spring.
I imagine the ground giving way,
it's pores open and graspable.
And the rich smell of grass
and dirt breathing.
Today, the ground is concrete
and jarring as I walk to my car.
The air so cold and nothing
to smell at all- sterile and icy.
The empty palette of January
suggests limitations or
a failure of imagination.
It's a long walk through
the industrial complex of Winter.
Cinder block and gray
fluorescent light. Grimy windows
and neutral carpeting running
for what seems like city blocks.
No wonder we are surprised
when we finally come to
the unlocked door that opens
on a shining garden.
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