![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxRg4_3WVvBfgcVCWNFcc0HYnsgOJua2PWmPgwiXb8eSNVP-UGBhkizSinrH8KMnAcyrHGu0zWjbbpC6viwlVfaQtPb7thq7_OH2TglchgMQToHbFH5TFovJOvRSt7Qf7jWzVb_iKzycU/s200/january_thaw_poster-r56b592b9ea974e26922cd1526861a50e_wi7_400.jpg)
There is the smell of water.
On the western wind the hint of glacier.
A cottonwood tree warmed by the same sun
On the same day,
My back against its rough bark,
Same west wind mild in my face.
A piece of spring
Pierced me with love for this empty place
Where a prairie creek runs
Under its cover of clear ice
And the sound it makes,
Mysterious as a heartbeat,
New as a lamb.
Photography credit: Unknown (originally color).
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