Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Dry leaves hide patches of brown grass
which crunches underfoot
Green pines tower above barren trees
against a bleak gray canvas

Fish are stirring in muddy waters
but refuse to bite
Freezers are full, the woods quiet
and guns are in the closet

Evening logs crackle in the hearth,
windows chilled by morning
The sun sheds coats by noon
but still sets too early

Tiny buds wait their time
playing dead
Others burst in early color
tempting fate

Winter has worn thin
Summer is way too far
Patience is a virtue
This is spring-not-yet

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