82 days
until spring
raises its head

and pokes
the first crocus
through the final snow

82 days
until evenings
are long, again

and birdsong
wakes us, and cricketsong
lulls us to sleep

82 days
until shorts
rejoin my wardrobe

or maybe
just capris
to start with

and birkenstocks
re-appear
from the closet to the back door

and my heart
thaws again
from winter’s frost

open again
with the windows
longing for the first rain

to wash away
the grimy grit
of winter’s remains

the clouds clear
to let the sun shine bright
on my bare arms

and warm me
from without
and within

82 more days
of winter
to come

before the spring
thaw
once again