apples with honey

Every morning I am tricked by the sun into thinking she has conquered winter in the night. She burns the clouds and plays on the window sill and nudges us awake. Alas it is a slow battle, but one of these mornings it will be so. The earth will squish under my feet and the windows will snap open. One day soon I will be hanging clothes on my beloved clothesline with icy fingers.

e.