A hummingbird flts outside the window.

It should be spring like outside.

It should be but not here.

Not here.

A picture sits across from me.

A leaf covered in ice against the white of winter.

I can see every variation of texture and thickness of the ice.

Who could say if it was destined to survive through the season.

I could not tell.

Not here.

The picture is snapshot in stasis.

And I have to meet it there.

Leaving my own season behind glass.

I must enter the winter.

This is not the time for life.

Not here.

Stasis is sometimes the only way to preserve life.

Frosting over something that may not survive.

So like the leaf I frost over until better times.

Until the weather can support my life.

Maybe then I will not need the ice.

Letting my worries drip away from me like snow melt.

Just not here.