juncos peck through crusts of white

seeking wind-tossed black sunflower seeds

lost remnants of winter’s last hurrah

winter speed bumps

our trek toward spring

tis only a flesh wound!

current ‘feels like’ temp: —13

by week’s end, 80 degrees

snake plant’s magic

I place it bedside,

eager to lap up

its nighttime

oxygen benefits

discord stayed, perhaps for good

intentions voiced: determined & true

six sisters seek authenticity

husband crunches taco’s shell

shredded chicken, sprinkle of cheese

poetry fingertips worry the keys

that van Gogh photo you took

when we walked through the autumn woods —

I’d like to frame it, such a lovely memory

the feel-good muscle-flex

of seasonal chores & yardwork —

tree-trimming, leaf-raking

and stick-gathering,

with the occasional burst of green

poking up through the soil,

further proof that spring

is most certainly on its way