A quote from Vincent that I’ve been chewing on the past few days, ended up this way. The ending isn’t quite there yet methinks.

Deep in snow, walking with cold.
The shining air, stirring around the trees
rearranging the drifts, whistling
on the brown garden stems,
It has always been winter, you might think
it will always be winter
on yet another morning of snowflakes
and white crusted garden and walk.
But as unchanging as that moment
standing in the snowy night,
the heart knows winter will pass
and come again and return once more
after spring and summer and fall
the snow will return, squeak and slush,
but first the green shoots shivering
and the long days of hot blue sky
and the smoky days of fiery leaves.
In each a moment, all is always like this:
the endless tulips, the eternal cornfields,
the brilliant maple at last giving way
to the white and snowy field and
frosted windows, the breath made visible,
and the thought returns that it was always
thus, and our heart will always remember,
a familiar step on the porch step,
welcoming each return in turn.