Let us praise even the cold.
The terrible, iron cold.
Let us give way and accept the story no more …
… that the cold holds the land in its grip.
Oh, iron cold, we love the emptiness in you.
We love the way you cannot hide the small grasses that will bring the emptiness within you to fulfilment.
We love how it is not your presence that is your strength but your acceptance.
Oh, cold, your language is not your own. We know that. We know your language is only the silence at the core of the earth talking to the sun and the stars.
And you will give way.
And we are all joyous. Summer is here already.