Ice
When Winter scourged the meadow and the hill
And in the withered leafage worked his will,
The water shrank, and shuddered, and stood still -
Then built himself a magic house of glass,
Irised with memories of flowers and grass,
Wherein to sit and watch the fury pass.
Charles G.D. Roberts
Although Dylan Thomas* believed that "April is the cruelest month," I vehemently disagree. The cruelest month by far is February. By this point, we Midwesterners are sick of Winter, and we can experience the coldest temperatures of the year and heavy-duty snowstorms. Yet it tempts us with days that hint of Spring with a warm southern breeze, only to cruelly freeze us again. The best that can be said for February is that it is short.
For more February Muses, check out Sweet Home & Garden Chicago.
(Edited Feb. 3, 2008: Thank you Sue Swift for correcting my poetry gaffe. The poet was, in fact, T.S. Eliot, and I can only plead extreme distraction (kids home for a Snow Day) in mitigation. Sorry.)