Liliana is anxiously awaiting the disappearance of snow and appearance of green grass, for it is then that I’ve promised her a sleep out in our tent.

“The coyotes won’t get us, right, Mom?” she says.  I nod.  Truth is, the coyotes do come running through our ravine frequently (and sound truly demonic, but that’s another story), but I don’t think they’d bother us.  It’s a thrill, at least, for her to consider the danger and excitement of what we’ll be doing…

From Luci Shaw’s “Under the Snowing”:

Who on earth would hope
for a new beginning
when the crusted snow
and the ice start thinning?
Who would even know
that the night could stir
with warmth and wakening
coming, creeping,
for sodden root and fin and fur
and other things lonely
and cold and sleeping?