After the January thaw,
that midmonth excitement
of rising water and new buds,
a moment of innocence;
then we realized winter was not done.
After the February freeze
wilted the dreams of forsythia
and one courageous crocus peeking
boldly out of the snow, we suffered
a sort of amnesia as if we were stunned
by the strength of the millions
of snowflakes, no two exactly alike;
each dancing to its own tune
yet united by the joy of being,
thus changing the face of stone.