The thick clouds,
In reflecting the lights,
Have made dusk of late night.
There is a singular wild beauty
To the hush that is winter,
Nature holding its breath,
Waiting to spring to life.
It's quiet
But not calm,
Humming with the tension
Of paused growth
Ready to rage
The minute the weight of cold and wet
Melts to give way
To the warmth of summer sun.