Small Stone -- February 1

The frame of reference is gone for how to appreciate this sunlight. I see children in shirt sleeves and want their mothers to call to them, "It's February, put on your coat."

The day lies, and believes itself. I think flowers will listen and bloom too soon.

"Yesterday," says the man in the check-out line, "Tammy saw a snake in her backyard."  Though he sounds incredulous, he and I both tend toward belief.

Today, then, this is what I've noticed -- the gift of good weather means less when it hasn't been earned, when there's a fear the debt is yet to be paid. I want a good, deep wind-blown February snow to fill up with footprints toward Springtime.