Shadows from a sunlit tree
Dance on my wall. Dance; that
Winter is over.

Worlds
Between the coldest
January day and this one  

Where the sun kisses your skin
So hard it cries.
I don't miss the snow. Can do

Without the unyielding dark
And scraping of ice from the
Windshields at 4.30am.

There's magic in this country.
In winter it whispers of itself
In the creaking of dry frost

Beneath your boots under
Northern Light veils of
Thin colour enveloping skies

White with stars like pixels.
Now, it's the warm morning sun
Gently parting the fog; leaving

Little glimmers of itself in the
Drops of dew that remain.
Dew, and the little deer drinking.