We will make it to spring.
It will begin and we won’t notice. The ice
That floats so laboriously in the lake
Will start to melt, but
We won’t see it.
Its slow pace
Won’t cause much alarm.
But if you listen between heavy steps,
The winter’s air, caught within the ice will
Start to escape. It breaks free with one last yelp
Of protest. The ice has been forming
For such a long and tiring winter.
A strong barrier between
The water and the air that lingers above
Becomes wispy and unstable.
A bit more precarious to stand
Upon. The crystals formed on branches
Slowly lose their grasp, becoming tiny
Dive bombs. It’s a bit more dangerous to walk
The winter is nearly over, but we won’t realize
It just yet. The sun is coming back,
But it’s what we expect now. We won’t listen
To the winter’s last cries.