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
Illinois Coroners Push Back on Assisted Suicide Bill
Illinois state coroners recently gathered to discuss the proposed physician-assisted suicide bill that awaits a signature on…
Christian Ownership Maximalism
Christendom is gone. So, too, is much of the Western civilization that was built atop it. Christians…
Abandonment of Truth (ft. George Weigel)
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, George Weigel joins…
