Piles of snow and ice tenaciously refuse to melt on the north sides of buildings and trees

Fallen branches from the ice storm mock the emerging crocuses

Beauty emerges within the storm’s beastly remains.

Grateful for low tech tools

The fireplace, the printed book, the battery-operated radio

We stay wrapped up in the magic warmth of blanket throws

And wait until the weather warms enough

to deliver tornado season.

Alas, that’s spring.