Day 27

there are balmy days, even when it’s cold outside
pay attention to the behavior of water fowl

and the reflections in the water, the choppy or not waves;
the painter I never was still looks to the colors of winter sunsets

in anticipation of slight color shifts telling me
when real spring is arriving

Day 28

in these hours of flux and whinge
as the sickly dark nursery rhymes

sing and the moon goes down for a nap
we scan the horizon for evidence

of a lengthening day — only to find
we’ve not yet reached Ground Hog’s Day

and we’re looking for the Ascension

Day 29

an old man drinking decaf in the morning
dreaming of mountains

of silence: scraping minutes
out of rusty watches