I've watched you
all winter, holding your beauty close.
Protecting it from the snow and cold
in your grey-green fuzzy casing.
When the time is right,
you release that protection.
Giving you the freedom to unfold your splendor.
Like hands opening.
Like fingers uncurling.
There is hidden beauty in our winter.

I can never tell
if you are laughing
or if you are crying,
Seagull.

The gentle wings
of a butterfly says little
of its inner strength.

It is I, the cat.
I sit and patiently wait
to swipe at the dog.

I am not bleak
I am not barren
I am the canvas
on which life
is built.

you arrive pure white
pushing through the still cold ground
a growth that brings hope.