i hated spring last year.
i hated spring for coming,
the snow for melting,
the birds for chirping.
my soul erupted in rage that the seasons dared to change
when mine was still deep in winter,
deep in death.
this year is so different.
the first few months of henry’s young life
are now safely behind us,
and he is ready to emerge, healthy and strong,
to meet the blooming world around him.
today as my feet tread on thawed, soggy ground
and my ears tingle with the sound of baby birds,
i am moved to feel happy, and i am.
and then quickly, i am not.
the darkness and light of the two seasons
clash violently in my mind,
and a thunderstorm rolls through until i stop fighting it,
until i let the opposite feelings meet, and shake hands.
i roll the windows down and gulp the fresh warm air,
and it tastes good.
then i bring Tinsley some pastel flowers
and share a laugh with her
because the garden flag by her grave still reads “winter”
and we both know that in part of my heart
it will always be winter, too.