On the thirty-first of January
I long for warmth — hands and feet always cold…
the sun — so far away it doesn’t even melt the icicles
hanging from the roof,
or the snow on the spruce branches.
Mostly the dark gray sky just turns a lighter shade of pale;
morning is only told by the smell of coffee.
The cat takes refuge in the warm dryer.
Yet there are glimmers —
spirit-lifting bluebirds fly around in the snow;
a bit of brown grass shows underneath the pines;
each day brings an extra minute of precious light.
Feb. 3, 2015: Sunrise 7:04 Sunset 5:16 10 hours 12 minutes of daylight… and counting.