Life is surfacing, escaping, crawling toward the
light as the winter thaw arrives. Smashing the grip of
blizzard’s snow, the frozen arctic blasts which pain
the lungs, catching one in the intake. Puxatony Phil
clambers from his chamber, February forecasts,
looking, spying, stretching to see his shadow predicting
how much longer we all stay below; within the blankets,
the covering of snow, the warmth of stoves.
We seem to crawl towards the light as springtime
Approaches; searching for that shadow in our heart,
Begging for the thaw to release our chilled self (that
Doesn’t give a dam about much). Reaching and pawing,
maybe some Top Hat old man will raise us overhead and
declare that we have found our shadow and now are
free to embrace it and be done with the current freeze and
winter snows that encase our lives.
Richard W Smith
February 12, 2011
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