The day is cold if you believe it's spring;
Intolerable, if it were July.
The air is crisp, with an autumnal ring
And sparkling frost illuminates the sky.
But as it's February, I am glad
To see the possibility of heat
As all that shining frost melts into sad
Puddles of undrained water in the street.
I stop to watch reflections play in pools
And wonder at the change from just last week
When snow had barricaded all the schools
And frozen all the water in the creek.
So though the year will warm further than this
I find in it a pale, unfrozen bliss.
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