I used to think winter was the time for sleeping
or for dying, and if you did neither of these
you would be cold and miserable and desperate
for April and blossom and rain. But I was wrong.
Winter is a time for magnificence against
the scaffolding of the forest and the canvas
of the snow. It’s when the small things are big
and the big things are kings, when the brave
get stronger and the rulers of the world learn
that long nights and ice are the forges of life.