It's one of those days
when 30 degrees Farenheit
seems warm
and the tired snow mottles
near-bare fields needing
a new blanket.
The birds are not so ravenous
at the feeder
and the dogs track mud
into the shop.
We sail into the morning,
heavy boots left behind,
coats flapping in the wind;
we are hatless
a spring in our step.
We believe, for the moment,
for the day,
that maybe this winter won't
be so bad,
after all.
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