Winter strains toward spring.
A bird is singing in a leafless tree.
The river gleams, the sidewalks glint with ice
or with a hint of possibility.
A blade of sun bisects the afternoon
street. In such a slippery spot I fell,
righted myself, stood up,
and found myself no longer in the winter
but in a city and a season slyly
disguised as ordinary, but transfigured.
The grime of dailiness was all rinsed clean.
In a leafless tree a bird was singing.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
The Politics of Judas
In this Easter season, we naturally reflect on the passion of Christ, his resurrection, and all that…
Trump’s Civilizational Project
Secretary of State Marco Rubio spoke at the recent Munich Security Conference. Last year, Vice President JD…
The Real JD Vance (ft. Frank DeVito)
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Frank DeVito joins…
