The Thaw

Ice splits like glass breaking into song, the hidden stream beneath finding its voice after months of silence. Branches bud their secret green, a whispered yes that fills the naked air.

Between the cold and warmth, we balance— neither here nor there, but wholly in this narrow door where breath becomes visible, then dissolves into the shifting light.

The earth exhales. Seeds crack their shells. Something older than memory stirs, remembering how to reach toward the sun that finally turns its face back toward us, patient and gold.

Waiting teaches nothing, but arrival— arrival teaches us we were never as still as we believed. We thawed all winter long, drop by drop, becoming liquid, becoming free.