The Sun hides and crystals that have piled up remain. Hidden or not, the mere presence
of his shy face sends the squirrels hurling down tree trunks and skittering
across the crusty surface of the snow. I have the window open and I hear them
scratching around in fallen leaves and scolding each other. My fingers are chilled
nearly to the bone but I leave the window open. It is a handshake between January
and me, making good on our agreement that as Time marches I roll
along with it, and together we will stump along towards Spring.