In a sleepy hollow not far from the river,
Beside the deep and narrow frozen lake.
By the cold shadows the mountains deliver,
We lie nestled in the warmth we make.
Waiting…for the ice and snow to slowly melt.
Wondering…if the grey mist will ever lift.
Hoping…for a shallow sun to warm the sky.
Anticipating…new sounds of life upon the water.
For the short winter days will soon grow mild
As the embers from the wood stove grow dark.
When green not grey, will be the color of the wild.
Then upon another spring we will soon embark.