The Melting of the Ice
A shockingly-familiar sound only heard
in the middle of the night,
during bouts of insomnia,
when we clench sweat-covered bed sheets,
praying for slumber to take us:
a cracking noise, almost as though
ghostly spectators are clapping,
applauding a one-act play only they can see.
But no, it's only ice melting on the trees,
it's only the world waking up again;
as we will do, too, after a few more hours
of tossing, turning, grimacing in the darkness.
Before we shut the curtains, the night before,
everything was frozen. Now, however,
as we peer into a fresh new dawn,
the rising sun highlights the sights:
daffodils, raising petals to the warmth;
bees, busy gathering honey;
a favorite oak tree discovering leaves.
What once was a sheet of icy solitude
has melted; and after the melt, an awakening.
A rebirth, a rekindling, a reminder
that even the longest of winters eventually end.
Maybe, tonight, we will finally sleep.
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