before the sun

i step outside into a breeze too raw for spring still tinged by the melting snow.

in a day or two the last whiteness will be gone and the air will blunt with warmth.

i take in my arms birch wood.

an easy burn in the days of lengthened light

and i wonder toward nights soon to come.

warmer nights where the smells of birch, ash, and oak, will mingle with sage and sweat.

and i will see you in the dim light before the sun.