It's a warm and a breezy afternoon here in Boulder. My studio door is open, Maisie is laying in front of it...soaking in fresh air and listening to distant bird songs and dog barks. Seems like winter is a long lost dream now.

After the Winter

Some day, when trees have shed their leaves

And against the morning’s white

The shivering birds beneath the eaves

Have sheltered for the night,

We’ll turn our faces southward, love,

Toward the summer isle

Where bamboos spire the shafted grove

And wide-mouthed orchids smile.

And we will seek the quiet hill

Where towers the cotton tree,

And leaps the laughing crystal rill,

And works the droning bee.

And we will build a cottage there

Beside an open glade,

With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near,

And ferns that never fade.

~Claude McKay