By David De Jong
Fresh February snow, after a tease of spring;
While the geese return north, and confused robins sing.
Cold winds drifting, rather forgotten memories;
Manifest in the howls and scowls of tortured trees.
We basked in the sunshine of unwarranted days;
Winter’s gate had broken and let in all the strays.
Tempted by short sleeves and t-shirts, strolls in the park;
Frost already retreating, mud losing its mark.
Each day forcing memory, of one subtle clue;
Old man winter wasn’t finished, not nearly through.
Just a tinge of frost, in the early morning air;
Winter hats and coats cast, for a much lighter fare.
We doubted the forecast, the weatherman’s disdain;
Surely, he’s joking, or must be going insane.
Temperatures in the seventies, warm sun aglow;
Then he tries to tell us; get ready for some snow.
Blizzards in February, just a winter’s norm;
Even March or April can bless us with a storm.
So, we’ll return to our thermals; boots, hats and gloves:
Listening for orioles, lonely songs of doves
Until then, we’ll esteem the beauty of the snow;
As the morning sun rises and trees seem to glow.
God’s gift of creation, lifting her mighty voice;
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Winter’s rejoice.