A blizzard
in New York,
but here
it’s sixty-four
in January,
like never before.
The warm air
smells, tens
of neighbors
wash their cars,
and something
is blooming
against better
judgement.
Failed winter,
alright,
this is a door
straight to July,
a reminder
of how a heart
can feel,
still,
after dormancy
that at first
I thought was
self-imposed
OPTIONAL POETRY 
“Something is blooming against better judgement…” Wow. Loved this. The wording in this poem is simple and beautiful, but sometimes less really is so much more 😊 As I read this, I genuinely felt uplifted and I think you did an excellent job of conveying a sense of waking after dormancy. Lovely writing! 😊
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thank you, Yusra! I think in poetry, less is (almost) always more 🙂
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Just heard my first blow scraping by….Lovin your words of warmer temps and mentioning July. In kind from snowy Brooklyn.
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brrr! Happy to share a little sun 🙂
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ooops I meant PLOW! LOL
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Just lovely! Heart-talk is core, and dormant I think is okay for awhile. Like self-preservation.
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Thank you! You’re right, nothing wrong with dormancy except that it can be hard to get out of after a while
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