The House is Still Empty

It felt like spring.  The sun shone, the birds called, the grass even began to sprout.  For weeks we watched the grey skies and saw them gradually clear.  We heard the rain on the roof and we felt the ground soften under our feet. 

We were not fooled.

Winter, hiding like the coyote at the fence line, arrived again with a gale and dropped its silken blanket on our heads in the night.  The shoots are hidden, the animals are huddled in their barn, and the birdhouses are still empty. 

Spring is soon, but not yet.