How fast February
flies in
when so little time ago
what I remember
from so many Decembers
was just happening.
The deeps of winter
again now past,
first rounds of blossoms
here and there,
show threats to choke the winter out
and tease me
with their tastes of spring.
I wake to dim sky gray
backlit by somewhere sun
that lights and deep,
reflective, mud-lined puddles
bracketing the street,
and seek to use the
muted light
to guide me
through whatever storm
I choose to make
or chance to meet.