All Is Forgiven

This, more than any season, becomes
a test of faith; belief that nature has not
abandoned or forgotten us, the frustratingly
tardy arrival of spring is an anomaly she
will soon notice and amend, we have but to
wait, and as we do, convince ourselves
that the ground below our feet will soon
thaw, the snow and ice melt, and the flora
we so adore will return. Thus it has always
been, no reason to believe that the eternal
ritual has been forsaken, even though we
feel that we have been. Transitions of the
seasonal magnitude that is nature's purview
take time and all too frequently a fully
unproductive adversarial situation arises
when winter has grown old and misery
minded, a cantankerous, grumbling, fully
weatherworn and irascible elf whose hoary
presence once hailed, no longer charms
yet remains resistant to pleas to depart.
We of tenuous faith despair, but we need
only look about and count the symbols of
spring with longer days and returning migrant
birds anxious to resume life in our warming
climes even though vexatious ice storms 
and ravaging winds have claimed their
right to rampage across our landscape before
finally fading into memory as sun and rain
and gentle breezes nudge gardens awake.