Without Winter

Without winter

how would we know spring?

How would we know the delight

of the first bud of the rose,

or the sighting of a robin

at the break of day?

How would we know 

that we climbed out of the drudge

that winter holds?

That we have been transformed

from our underworld dive?

Without winter in our soul

how would we feel renewed by love,

by the awakening of sleepy cells 

that long ago remained unchanged?

How would we know if we

passed through hell 

to come out healed?

How would we know 

what healing is?

Without the depths of our journey

How would we know we arrived?

Without winter

how would we remember

that not a spring comes by 

without its promise of renewal,

its soft colors,

enchanting breeze,

its welcoming silence, setting the stage

for that first sign of relief?