As much as you do, undoubtedly, I grow tired of the tense shouldered, hunching posture of winter, the gray ice pavement, even the frozen dog turds. But I don't want it to end. I cannot ask for it to be over. Time is as slick as that puddle ice. GO SLOW. The quiet is everything. Spring moves far too fast for me to beg for it. It is something to be savored, contemplated, in the ever-lasting distance of winter.
recently finished work.