February Thaw

cool wind, not cold,
a voice from home in the south,
soothing breeze makes you quiet;
let it play with your hair, wrap it around your face.
sounds come smoother except crunchy slush;
cars glide past on bare roads
free from icy sinews.
sun goes to bed later, still light at six,
horizontal clouds cooling,
comfortable orange street lights,
cool blue shadows.
warm lights smile through windows
like baking bread,
like grandmother at rest in her favorite chair.
banks of layered snow receding
reveal mud and bits of green grass.

you want to run barefoot,
jump up and catch the moon,
dance an Irish jig.
you want to run away to the mountains,
hike up to waterfalls,
roast hot dogs,
tell ghost stories around the fire.
you want to lay in the grass,
expose yourself to the sun,
or stare at stars and talk about God and life.
you want to be in love for the sweetness of it
even though it might be another hopeless wish.
you want to breathe a garden's quiet fragrance.

you have forgotten
old snow,
dead leaves still clinging to skeleton branches,
the jacket still hanging on your shoulders,
sidewalks cracked from freezing.
you walk lighter for the music of peace inside,
a small glow of optimism,
not because you're trying to get across the ice patch
without slipping.