Slow arrival

Spring titrates in Montreal; an ice storm blankets everything in a glistening silence that makes the treetops sparkle in soft morning light; an ordinary pitter-patter rain falls for days in brief torrents, thawing it all; a quick snap of afternoon snow; a glimpse of what it’s like to walk outside in a t-shirt; ice-sun-rain-sun-wind-rain-sun-wind in a single day

I am confused I am exhausted I am eager

I keep telling myself Spring is coming hesitant to say it’s here (despite passing the equinox) because I know there’s a snowfall lingering in the shadows, considering one last dance before letting go and evaporating into the lush verdancy of arrival.