The sensitive arch of her soul
tickles with longing
for reunion with fresh cut Spring grass

The dark and humid trappings of unnatural comfort,
man-made warmth for a bitter season,
makes her free-sprinting spirit claustrophobic

And although she can see the gleaming snow for miles
and can appreciate the appeal of a nice blanket
She hates shoes,
how heavy they can become on long walks -
a soggy burden in the name of convenience

She sees the grass peaking out form under it's Winter covers
and her Nike wings twitch with anticipation
for a sweet chance to shed superfluous layers

Until then
She blues dances in the dark
looking for a faint spark
and in her dreams, she runs
through wild fires