Winter’s chill lingers well into spring.
I buy daffodils to encourage the sun
to return and shine in the kitchen.
Tight-clenched fists their buds,
they sit on the table and I wait
for them to open.
Grey clouds fill the sky.
A distant sun lights up the land
but doesn’t warm the earth
nor melt the snow.
The north wind chills the mind,
driving dry snow across our drive
to settle in the garden.
Our red squirrels spark at the feeder.
The daffodils promise warmth,
foretell future suns, predicting
bright warmer days to come.