Feel them stir.


Winter is a time of seeming surfaces:
trees glittering with ice, land locked
beneath snow drifts, little grey birds
flitting like flies in arbor vitae.
But everything will return from roots,
sleeping, nearly dead, they perform
their yearly miracle, they begin
again and even now, when we least
dream of them, they dream us.
Put your hand in the coldest snow
and feel them stir.

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