This is our winter life:
The oven warms the kitchen.
I shape sticky dough into fresh loaves.
You comb the dog, gently.
Today, I want to shed this comfort, I want
to run and run and run
until I lose myself, exhausted.
This is the April mischief.
I long to fling doors and windows wide,
invite Spring to sweep through me,
warm me,
water me,
bring me to bloom.
I am tired of indoors.
No more
soup or stew for supper or cozy
fires. I want to make love in the open air,
feel sunlight on my skin.
Our sweaters will sleep in cedar.
We sleep naked under cool sheets.