I hustled out, then in,
Braced for the seventeen seconds
Between threshold and dashboard
Cowed by, but blind to
Fat, wet, late March snow

Halfway home
Tunneling under canopies
I remembered to miss winter.
Months of tempering myself
To its storms and whims
Grew it into me,
Like a second skin.
Till I could feel its change coming
A day before:
A small bite at the back of my neck

Four months of cursing shovels
Keening for green,
Smiling at melting
Then to mourn
A final frosting
On wipers and windows

I took the dog out,
But I didn’t hurry her to the side yard
We walked the road,
I let her erase snout and tail
In the wet blanket
And for the first time in months
I embraced it,
And thought of the shiver
That went from nape to sole
When a flake died there,
A blessing

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