The Countdown

We have the days counted until Spring,

give or take the Ground Hog’s calculation,

timid beast that he is, afraid of his own shadow,

but we have a countdown started, marked

on our calendars, crossing the days off until the snow

is gone, almost gone, well, mostly gone, and the green

grass takes root and the early flowers start shooting up,

crocuses and daffodil, winter heath and snow drops;

the robins have returned, and the ice is “out,” someone richer

for having guessed that exact day and time, or close;

behind us now are the days of boxing up the winter hats

and gloves and mittens, our winter coats moved to the attic,

the garage, wherever we safely store them, unneeded,

and the layering clothes replaced with t-shirts and shorts,

the lightweight clothes of spring and summer, winter gone

and autumn too far ahead to think of it … but

winter is not done, not yet, still “winter” on the calendar,

February and March’s lion and lamb and April’s

showers, another storm coming, a few more inches

of snow and cold and the sore backs and arms from shoveling,

the snowbanks grown too high and the snow too deep, cursing

now the season, but there is still time for the winter sports

we anticipated, praying for snow and ice, prepared for them

last October and November when we shut up the camp,

stocked full the wood box and lay in provisions

for the long dark season ahead, ready for winter

and sweaters and hot chocolate on a cold dark night,

or the peace of a walk in the falling snow, silent around us.

But it is coming, spring is, just as winter did

and autumn before that, each season in its own time, in turn,

as it does every year, marked now on our calendars, circled,

this countdown of the weeks and days remaining, giving us hope,

something new to look forward to, as we do each new season,

counting down until the next one, eagerly waiting, anticipating.