I've watched the months as they've passed; slowly slipping cotton silk. And all the birds in the trees, damp songs singing. "Winter hasn't left yet", they're cooing, canoodling, cuddling their eggs till it's warmer. And behind shuttered glass, humans, in their warm woolly winterwear, warming themselves by a kindly fire. Above my left ear, the soft white wind rustles the trees, snow begins to peters off leaves; and freshly fallen it turns to muck beneath the soles of my feet.