Thaw

The ice remembers what we forget— how silence holds weight, how cold teaches us to listen.

Water finds its voice beneath the crust, a whisper becoming speech, the earth breathing again in fragments.

We stand at the threshold, not quite ready for the green that insists on returning, for the light that asks questions we've buried.

But the world doesn't wait for our consent. Spring comes whether we're looking or not, dissolving the borders we built.