not yet equinox

lifting my head,
lifting from tunnels of snow, suddenly twenty-four below
sunshine and snow sculptures and rime sparkling;
lifting from screens and stories and laughter and 
william kamakwamba's windmill in wimbe 
Becoming
news and history 
cycles cycling, spinning, circling….

lifting from sandy hook
and sand creek, 
from stephon clark and nelson mandela and robert e lee and colin kaepernick
from rokhshana and rosa parks and kellyanne conway and lauren small rodriguez 
from black lives and brown lives and all lives, wild life and
my own sweet, complicated, imperfect loved ones and the avalanche,
the avalanches
churning spectacular snow, each unique 
beautiful crystal swept 
weighty with time, wind, worn
neighbors
bound by pressure, triggered,
flowing and
resting, cemented history
melting, flowing again – cascading meandering swirling and
watering fields, filling swim holes, moistening roots and tongues and
evaporating,
creating that joyful rainstorm kids race through, laughing and
that violent thunderstorm that churns hailstorms….

lifting my head, 
light balances: equal,
seeds strong 
awake under winters’ drifts.

Words by Kate