After winter’s stillness has settled Autumn’s passing grief
perhaps marrow in bones which ache and stiff hips from
all that cold, seek the heat once more to oil their creaks.
A hand hesitates.
Moves to open the sealed window against
a massive doubt
(maybe it is too soon, too soon)
the heart always knows its secret need.
Wiping away weeping condensation
new hope rose in early morning sunlight.
The old frame groaned as heat reached in on
happy dust-mote beams
she espied the late spring awakening.
A full clatter of bright colours from
fresh sprung crocuses greeted her
from their distant flower beds.
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Shared with The Sunday Whirl #57