The snow lies so deeply around our house I might be wrong about that slender path, first through the transplanted hydrangeas from Susan and then along the milkweed behind the garden. Down the hill, through the wild tangle of pine and boxelder, I see a single porch light every night. Come spring, I imagine, I’ll walk in my boots through the melting snow, stand at the edge of the forest, and see whose light that is.
The light stays longer in the sky, but it’s a cold light,
it brings no relief from winter….
(The earth) says begin again, you begin again.
— Louise Gluck, from “March”