Child riding in winter
Hoping for spring
Trees by empty road
Snow all around
Blood on baleful white

Child riding her bicycle
Riding and writing
Composing in her head,
Writing and riding
Never putting pen to paper

All the seasons of my childhood were in winter

Writing at last – much later –
The stories and poems
That could not See the Light – then –
I’m finally riding in spring…
Rowing in Eden.

And what if with melting snow,
My rivers slightly overflow sometimes?
My spirit, blooming in springtime,
Gently shakes out its veil of winter dew,
Like a ruffled primrose flower unfolding its petals.