from_winterwhite_to_summergreen fyn gula if there will be a day when flowers again appear on the earth, when they are not dreams we have when we are sick and crocus pop through the saturated ground only to disappear upon waking, it is as if no one has told us or if they did it was in a language we do not know. we hear the words mentioned and perceive the hope in bright eyes and uplifted brows, but the sentiment seems to be lost in the translation. the snow lays as heavy as the thought of endless winter. hearts hanging like icicles from the roof waiting for a faraway sun to melt the frozen complacency. only our past, packed away like summer clothes in locked closets manages to suggest a possible end to this powerful malaise. old men gaze upon the days of youth and insure us that, yes, the sun, that once lightened our hair, will change the white of the frozen earth to green. 030203 what's it to you? who go blather from