I tilt my head back,
let the sun touch my face
The rays are hot, strong, intense
Heating my face, making my cheeks red and hot
The rays of spring,
Quickly turning the rooftop snow to water
Hitting the puddle below
The sense of spring is tickling my spirits
I hear the busy woodpecker,
I hear the chirping birds
Spring is approaching
Warming me up
Then I hear it,
The wind, traveling through the pine
Rushing to tell me differently
I remove my hands from my pockets get the hair out of my face,
but quickly put them back again
The tug of war has begun,
between winter and spring.
by Annelie Connolly