The Last Day of February

Winter will not go with a whisper
but its last scream is near

an Iowan stares out the window
at a backyard covered in snow
patiently
awaiting Spring

roads that are clear for bicycle rides
green parks that welcome a lie in the grass
layers left at home

a folded scarf
placed on a shelf in the closet
with gloves and wool cap

he knows March will not be a picnic
that this blanket of white will not vanish
tomorrow

but
soon

warm days may not be here
but they are close
and sometimes
close is enough

Winter will not go with a whisper
but its last scream is near