And so, although
there’s so much
work to do,
I step outside
and let February
have its way
with me—cold,
dusted with snow.
Hard to believe
anything can grow.
But singing high
in cottonwood trees
are the chickadees.
It’s not hard
to think, This
is the most
important thing I
can do today.
I think it
until I forget
to think it,
until I am
simply standing there
in winter air
pledging my ears
to the sound
of the birds—
such a simple
song. Funny no
part of me
longs for other
work. Funny how
soon it becomes
everything.