In spring the words rise different

I drove my daughter to school this morning.  It was just as cold as many winter mornings.  But... not cold and crisp.  Cold, yes, but brisk.  It surprises me, amazes me, when the words that come as I sit to write, the words are so different from just two months ago.

Amazing to me how,

In winter

Snow or not,

The days are cold and crisp.

In spring,

Snow or not,

The words rise different,

Cold, perhaps,

But brisk now,

Wind or not,

Still brisk,

Cold perhaps

But cold and brisk.

We could get a spring snow.

The briskness would tell us

The melt is on the way.

In spring the words rise different,

Like sap.

They beg to be tapped.

They beg

To be made

Into something simply

Achingly

Sweet.