winter's return

"You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason." 

— Ernest Hemingway (A Moveable Feast)   

       Last Friday, it was 75 degrees in the District.

This morning it took me 20 minutes to get ice off of the windshield.

[I wonder if the birds feel as mislead as I do.]

But there is something sincere today about the 

snow dusted streets and frozen branches.

Like splashing cold water over your face after you've spent all night crying,

an attempt to heal, or at least numb, your swollen eyes.

Everything is visible in the snow, no foot print goes unseen -

even those who are silent and struggling clearly exist.