Snowpants take time,
thick boots take time,
laboriously fitting small mittens
to small thumbs, but

when we finally exit the house
I have to shade my eyes
from the brilliance.
Without walls, breath expands.

Late February, early Adar:
every woodpecker and chickadee
is out today, calling
from one bare tree to the next.

Tomorrow morning
Monday's gears will grind again,
windshield glazed opaque
with petty frustrations

but now my son grips his shovel
like a proud orange flag
and valiantly climbs
what the snowplow left behind.

Sometimes merely making it outdoors feels like a victory, in late February when winter (even this mild winter) has settled me firmly in my groove on the livingroom couch. Sometimes merely noticing my amazing son and his enjoyment of the world feels like a victory. It's all too easy to take things for granted. How can we take these little victories with us into the week, talismans against whatever sorrow or indignation tries to weigh us down?