Renee Writes

Early March. 
The sun is shining 
and the air is warming,
but it is not enough
to lift my winter-weary spirits.

Gritty gray on the ground,
Biting wind in the air,
Dingy dried yellow grass and
Brown dirt patches too tired to even be mud.
Low level at the lake, dark water pulled back,
exposing the pale beige belly of sand,
so vulnerable, uncovered and cold.

Every year, the last bit of winter drags its feet,
in no hurry to make room for better days.
I want to push it out the door.
I know what I need.

My eyes long to be flooded with green.
My ears yearn for a stream of birdsong.
My feet ache to be pressed deep into soft fragrant grass.
My skin itches, waiting for the soothing caress of a light breeze, flowing across my sun-warmed arms.
My nose, so dried by the winter air,
Tries to remember the smell of rain.

Hurry, Spring, please hurry.
I crave the color green.