It's Still Life

Ex Nigro et Albo Hiemis

It’s from the east facing window that I watch spring, although this morning’s winter fog obscures the view from anything beyond the windowsill, but no matter—I’m unmoored from gloom by an amber warning to winter that blooms bright as a lantern. Yes, the crocuses are blooming; yes, the birdbath has been fluid as spit all week; and yes, a butterfly landed on my arm. Soon the lavender will be blooming, my wide-brimmed hat will be at easy reach, and I’ll add fresh mint to my tea. But for now, I’ll watch spring singing with the crocuses from the east facing window.