Freeze and Thaw - April 23 2026

 

Freeze and Thaw

April 23 2026

The ground is still frozen.

Patches of dirty snow

persist in the shadows.

Things freeze overnight

then thaw in the sun

once it gets high enough. 

This freeze and thaw spares little;

metal fatigues

soil loosens

and concrete splits,

expanding and contracting

from day to night and back.

I, too, feel torn in spring;

out of sorts,

uneasy with the headlong change.

I miss the dark constancy of winter;

the even blanket of snow

that piles higher

but never really changes,

the dormant earth

resting beneath it,

and the cold air

that sits heavily over the world

and seems to settle me as well.

Rain has flushed out the worms

and I see robins at work

on the soggy winter lawn,

gorging on plump stranded bodies

the colour of clotted blood.

They skip over the limp brown grass

on naked stick legs

that look too brittle to hold,

then flit between spots

in quick staccato jumps,

half hopping

and half in flight.

The air is cold and damp

and packs a bone-deep chill.

I think of the lightly feathered birds

seeking refuge overnight,

and their fierce pursuit of food

as life or death.

Pick up my pace,

then reach up a hand

and snug the collar ‘round my neck.