Strip off the coat, gloves, scarf.
Rummage for an old pair of shoes
comfortable, broken in past being afraid
of a little mud, water, slush.
Choose a walking stick
sturdy, nonslip cap on its tip.
The outside thermometer keeps climbing
now its sixty-six, the sun is out. Hight past seventy?
A week ago same time, freezing rain
temperature of sixteen, wind chill zero
and white mounded everywhere.
Sidewalks a sheet of ice.
Time for a hop, a skip and a walk in the snowmelt:
a search for spring in the crevices of winter rubbish.
It has to be here somewhere close.
c.February 2011 Darlene Moore Berg