late winter

we shovel,
we push the snow
to the side.
the wipers crank
hard
and against the window.
we're thinking
daisies though.
we're thinking long
summers strolls
along the boardwalk.
our skin
browned in the new
sun.
but for now,
we dig out, we bundle
up,
boot up.
sip on the hot cup
in our hand
and look upwards
into the soft flakes
of a late winters storm.