Alive Again

A poem

February blues,
always something
in the news, snow
has overstayed its welcome
like a guest who leaves
piles of their stuff
all over your house,
like this stubborn head congestion-
a parting gift from a nasty cold.

Yet I look up,
trudging through
the slushy Target parking lot
to see a fresco
of rosy-gold etched clouds
processing behind
the rusty power lines,
and something inside
comes alive again.