Pines drooping with blizzard ice,
shelter bluejays inside silent igloos
of bending arms and evergreen veins.
Small, impatient, wet-gloved hands
place buckets to catch holy tears
dripping from scented icicles.
The after-storm calm is punctuated
by miniature ice slides.
Melting avalanches crash.
Branches begin to rise.
The children laugh and point.
"Look! Green horse tails swatting flies."
Small glaciers flood yards;
rush towards singing gutters.
Broken arms and legs
of oaks and elms
stick out of melting snowbanks.
Better to bend than break.
while you are still able.
- Judith Pordon