Lost winter

After a pancake breakfast we walked down side-streets through a winter drizzle marveling at the very early signs of spring all around us - snowdrops, crocuses, buds on trees, and patches of heather.  The community gardens have fresh crops of curly kale, brussel sprouts, and garlic.  

 
























 

Winter dawn is the color of metal,

The trees stiffen into place like burnt nerves.

-   Sylvia Plath