Winter Ending

When skies conspire
to suffocate the light
and leaves wither
and breathing creatures crawl into
ground-holes and wait--
winter lays its stiff shroud
of snow; and all is silent.

This winter has been long,
Narnian: not wicked in itself
but ill-conceived.
There has been no war
for many years but
neither has there been
feasting. Our dim hearth fires
have not brought joy and have made
no gains upon the cold.

I discovered today, while
folding a child's shirt,
that I begin to want goodness;
not merely as a matter of course
but as longing.

Ah, the melt begins!