Sara Wekselblatt

When I moved into this place, Spring was peeking through the darkest time.

The days were still short. The wait to get here, too long. 

At least I was alone. 

Poor cat was more scared than I was. 

Winter’s last embrace, a transfer of power to what I can only hope will be a better time. 

I waited patiently for holidays to end,

and for my 40^th year around the sun,

but there I was, standing still. Alone. 

Autonomous. 

A freedom I haven’t felt in years.