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.