The Cross
"We must carry
the cross
Before the cross
carries us."
Paul Claudel
Winter
Winter coming to a close harsh winds' bite sinking less deeply into bone; pavement peaking out from beneath tattered blankets; Sun deciding to stay for dinner. Blood in cold veins starts to warm and muck along like galoshes in slush; scissors in drawers ready to be opened to cut sleeves off flannel. Perch and walleye look up at square shadowed clouds moving across their icy sky leaving behind holes of luminous light; orange trucks look forward to dropping front-end weight and washing salt off their tail-ends telling war stories to the guys at the garage. Winter coming to a close the season that proves one is still tough enough to not fly away like a snowbird.
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