end of winter

In the Spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.
Margaret Atwood









I am weary of this winter,
this world of white sidewalk
canyons,
and grey mountains hard as bones
ranged along the roads,
of bland albino fields,
of ice dangling like daggers
in the lifeless air,

give me Spring
now,
let the breezes thaw
to kind zephyrs
that hold the sun up to my face,
let the water flow,
the rain fall,
let the world grow green,
let me smell the earth,
and embrace it
like the long-lost love
it is.