A stubborn sun warms the low twenties to high fifties by late afternoon, winter teases spring's best immitatiom of fall and I'm intrigued, some fish watching a silver lure glint with the last dregs of sunlight allowed by these muddy depths, I'm hungry, starving in that way only lonliness can breed. We make plans for cautious beginnings like two seeds tapping in moistened sleeves of paper towel, set in a windowsill, the view cannot discern nor betray the season any better than we can, there is fog on the glass, inside or out makes no difference. I'm two whole sunsets separated from you, tired in the way that doesn't let me sleep and I wonder about your dreams, every coming day promises more warmth and fewer clouds and I remember I can sometimes control the weather. There's going to be blossoms on all the trees, soon, so very soon.