Two weeks into March
No buds, yet, on trees
But the ice of our largest lake is melting
The streets are gray with dirt and gravel
Yielded by the melted snow they covered
To accommodate those who walk and drive
Now the days are almost as long as the nights
And the sun blasts our faces all morning
From its southern slant
Few walkers now wear gloves
Except for those with the habit not yet released from winter
And old folks observing the proprieties
Young women begin again to bare their bellies
Presaging their full display in summer
(Some bellies were bare, even in winter,
So powerful is this fashion)
With streets now dry, all are walking, striding
Toward their destinations
In the joy of regained foot-freedom
Yes, there are bird sounds, too.
Soon, Soon -- the Sun!