The raw wind is in from the sea,
the warmth of early (and surprising) sun
erased. The firs are in their element —
they dance in the cold moistness.
Cedars, too, take in this breath with relish —
it doesn’t matter
how long it is from now till spring —
long as bending boughs, as winter nights,
as this unnamed span of time and temperature
until our shoots break ground.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 29, 2017