2.26.15 Around it goes, over and over, with or without us.

Last summer feels so long ago; so far away, to us now. 

Here, in the midst of -16 at times, of voracious birds and obscuring snowbanks. 

Chugging furnaces and Jack Frost filled windows; here lie the seeds of verdant summer days, so heavy and wet, we can hardly step, eat, sleep. 

Around it goes, over and over, with or without us.

 As the Connecticut melts a bit, the ducks and geese gather, 

and we turn toward looming March.