Winter's curtain

6 to 8 inches of snow

befell the streets

of Chicago again,

burying everything underneath --

it's thick canopy too burdensome.

One wonders when this madness

will stop --

when the coldness and the indifference

from the heavens will pause,

along with the silent rage in my heart.

Winter's death --

will it precede the rebirth of spring?

Or will everyone and everything fade away

with this blistering whiteness

into oblivion?

Only hibernation seems like a

tempting invite

and respite

from the bullshit of it all.

What is the panacea for bullshit?

dreams,

the sound of piano notes and cadences

against the white, unforgiving backdrop ,

Love,

youth,

the Present,

Movement,

ballet/danser,

ballads,

poetry,

a Mother's song,

francaise,

a Room of her own,

pirouettes,

ice cream,

velvet,

fantasy,

Butterflies,

history of Love,

Starting over.