It was lightly snowing large, irregular flakes,
but between the drifting flakes a cold rain
pattered on the almost-green grass
as sunshine glanced to the side
of a dark, blue, passing cloud.
Wind huffed mightily
as I wanted to say something
startling or exciting, yet the wind
held the stage as I offered outstretched
my empty palms
to pay homage to the seasonal mix.
Anticipation of spring
can be marvelously maddening,
and a quick glance about the disordered garden
conjures up images of hard work,
Digging remains more satisfying
than the idle frustrations of winter.
Even a four-year-old yearns to build,
with fertile imagination,
with hands on wood or stone.