a premature Spring

A plate heaped high with pulled pork and coleslaw.  The pork so tender it doesn't even get stuck between my teeth, and the slaw so good it makes me want to buy a cabbage and carrot farm.  

Nanna's Slaw, the cook says, with a broad grin and wink.  

I re-purpose the food from plate to gut.  It settles down inside me, content as I am.  Before me is an ink print of a ponderosa lake.  An eagle flies with a fat salmon in its beak.  I give that bird a broad grin and a wink.

My hands push away the plate and pull the cup of coffee near.  I lift it to my nose.  Flavored steam inhales into me.  Mmmmmm.  I close my eyes and savor the cup before I even taste it.  I'll go for a barefoot walk in the fields, I think to myself.  Then I realize that this isn't just a nice thought, it is a necessity.  

I can already feel the cold february soil between my toes, warmed only by a few days' sun.  The snow, just gone from solar glow, just disappeared beneath the earth, comes bubbling up over my nails.  Long yellow stalks of grass, bowed down from january snows, spend their last bit of strength resisting the weight of my weak winter skin. 

I can already smell my feet in the room afterwards, dirt and dead grass aromas filling the room, like incense rising from my pedal-coals to fill the room with the freshness of the earth. 

I open my eyes and remember how bright the sun can be, which is something I had not forgotten.