Mid-winter is reasonably pleasant here in Central Ohio. Some sunny days, warmish, in the 40s and 50s. But mostly chill and gray. Little snow so far. Can we divine a purpose in winter? This poem suggests we can:

                      Purpose Winter

         Stillness of the woods is comprehensive

         river long distracted from her flow

         frozen current, time’s abandoned moment

         we hear the crackling of her dwindled fire.

         Even if we all prefer the spring     

         winter takes her placid time in leaving   

         she has her job, to her it’s far from grim:   

         she’s calming the abundant fields.           

         Without her, spring’s green feet would overdrive us 

         exhausted oaks would tumble in profusion  

         hearts of burrow denizens would falter   

         great herds would die from overmuch delight.

         Winter steals the land back to its bedrock

         chills the untamed rambling of our minds    

         she understands the need of rest and darkness    

         for deep work we must do to later thrive.