Snow sifting down from a gray-blue sky
It swirls in an insistent dance,
One minute playful, the next angry,
The next urgent, impatient. 

The wind, its dance partner, leads the dance.
The world has gone white again.
Locking me in its prison of promise
Promise of moisture, pure potential. 

Whispering, "Wait, you have to wait." 

As it holds spring ransom under its white blanket,
Images of green, lush grass and budding trees fill my eyes.
Flowers burst into color.
But it all fades to white and gray. 

Except for the bird song.
Despite the cold dreary sleep of the land,
They twitter tentative notes,
Then more courageous conversations ensue. 

Even the snow cannot hold back their eternal optimism.
"Spring will come," they seem to say.
And with their stoic confidence,
They lift my spirits. 

For is not spring also a state of mind?
A state of courage to overcome
The perceived obstacles of monotony and delayed gratification.
Inside my mind's eye spring unfolds its fresh new wings,
And soars to the songs of little birds.
And with it, my thankful soul is replenished.