It does no justice calling it amorous. I see it and feel like a spec.

I spent a half hour this morning sitting in the backyard staring up at the water falling from the branches washing away the snow.

Leafless, that unpredictable artistic pattern nature painted above the trunk… dark gray sky overhead, and water slowly dripping down from the twigs, time still, and cold… so damn cold. No matter what I wear, shivering.

Feet of snow turned to grass and I wondered if the Earth was big enough for the new ocean it was about to acquire.

Surely it will snow again but to see this glimpse of Spring before the insects breed and the birds early catching their worms, all seems lifeless, ice melts draining lifelessness, it soon feasts, and my cats more often than I.

I slip and fall and nature says you’re not meant to be, the oceans push me back to shore, the sun burns me freezing, can’t take anymore.

That is one incredible sight to see, that old tree. Has all the water it needs, it wants to be fed, it’s looking at me, I breathe out, it breathes in; I faint…. “feed the tree” it says to me, its feet, my bed.

Water falls on my face to awaken me and I wonder if it’s holy. Am I being washed or washed away? like the snow, I’m cold.

I go inside, I don’t belong.

My watch still works from years of wear, as do barely my playa dust covered shoes, treads unsafe for tires, but safe for every man, as is my tired body with its dizzy head & cold skin & this fresh cup of tea, with a drop of honey, my tummy calls dinner.

I call it winter.