Not So Fast Spring

The morning’s wind marched
through the atmosphere 
on an expedited mission.

It howled through the small
spaces along window sills
shifting last season’s dust.

Unrattled by unsettled panes,
the gale force was a comfort to
Winter huddled up before its leave.

In a regroup there the idea 
that one more mighty blow 
would give warrant to curl up.

When the wind waves gently,
it is easy to float between
clouded thoughts and inclemency.

Clearly not ready to dismantle
the rath built to withstand dark, 
I’m not ready for bright yet.