The view outside the upstairs window is a study of white snow on brown-grey tree limbs.
Sun gleams through the windowpane, but the glass feels like ice.
Winter crowds too close around our house.
Darkness falls too soon at night and leaves too late each morning.
Still, the ivy geranium is thriving.
It nearly succumbed to a vinca vine bully two short months ago,
And survived a late October transplant into an old washtub
To make a vigorous comeback.
Two weeks ago, as daylight grew scarce,
The ivy geranium produced first one bud and then another.
Mere inches from the icy windowpane,
The buds stretched toward the light.
First one bloomed and then the other during this week of Christmas,
Vibrant, pink reminders of the power of weakness:
The power of freedom from bullies,
The power of weak December light,
The power of a baby in a manger,
And the power of tiny seeds hidden under the snow, waiting for spring.
