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crOwl
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spring wakes like a grumpy teenager, moaning, stretching, baring a brief glimpse of pale skin, rolling over, covering her tousled hair with a pillow of wet leaves. mother earth yells up to her from where she's heating up things, saying the frost-burned tulips will never bloom if she doesn't get her ass out of bed. father sky is busy making the sun rise. winter, returning from dipping his icy fingers into ponds and bowls of animal water, sits on the edge of her blankets, and then slips in beside her. "i'm so tired!" he yawns and lays down, his frigid feet touching her naked shins. "mom!" she shrieks, leaping up. and somewhere a crocus blooms.
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