Between melts, the frozen river is slow enough
That the ice seems motionless.
Hard and gray it could be immobile until the high sun,
Shining coldly, opens the cracks that had closed overnight.
Floes move only in relation to the skeletal sycamores whose wide green
Leaves will block the view of the water in five months.
Not “short” months, the frozen ones are the longest.
Salvation is knowing the mud of March is weeks away.
How many would join me in hanging from those
Same sycamores if February had thirty one days?
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Hot Bottoms 
I love winter but generally by mid-March I am ready for a change. For me, I know Mud doesn’t come until late April or May. I am content.
I’m typically good through mid January, then it’s hunker down in survival mode.