On the land and for a time has come
a dusting of snow and freezing cold.
Winter sun scratches at the horizon 
in low light - late to come, early to leave.

I plod about the house and yard
to find the things that must be done -
daily chores and mundane tasks, 
this to fix and that for later leave.

The end of the year, beginning
of waiting for daffodils and first leaves.
But what I will miss if only for these I wait
while all around burgeoning life seethes?

Inside even my old self as upon 
the muddy ground does come 
some new stirring that, if I sleep too long,
will likely be gone before spring awakes.
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Portland, Oregon - December 27, 2021