Glitter Frost

After a fifty degree day in Michigan February,

(The groundhog said it must be spring.)

it dips back into the familiar freezing,

and all the leaves uncovered from snow

start the morning sparkling.


She mows her lawn reluctantly,

by hand, lets the wildflowers

grow. Despite her neighbors.

The flowers attract a stranger,

like a butterfly or a bee

to her front door. She opens it

and learns a story.


The season changes,

and so do I.

There is frost

one morning

on the windshield.

No. Only fog,

wearing frost’s color.