Friday, January 26, 2018

Harbinger


We had gone to buy honey, raisins, and a few other things. Upon our return, at the foot of our garden space, we saw one stray crocus, raised like a prophet’s fist. Winter is like this. Warm one day, snow the next. And love is our walking stick.

Note, January 26, 2018; poem, March 1, 2009


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