this weather,
which feels like spring,
though i remind myself it is not,
lures me from my smoky car,
turned inward,
to my plastic garden chair,
turned outward.
with this simple exchange,
i become part of the neighborhood again.
ray apologizes for his cussing
in the midst of a watery crisis,
rodney and michael work
on a livery of cars,
kerry argues by cell phone,
and the children play
on christmas-born scooters.
my winter lair
has sequestered me
from these goings on.
bare feet propped,
sap bubbling in my bones
i dare the winter long promising
to roust me again
from my comfortable perch.
a part: by anonymous 20th century poet
Bonnie McClellan-Broussard 
What a timely reminder that life goes on despite the weather! I like how the minutiae of the neighborhood becomes the soundtrack of our thoughts and ruminations. Nice poem, Anonymous!
This poet must live in California because the weather here has been abominably beautiful and winter has all but given up the cause. I feel the tendrils of this freakish Spring pulling me up and outside, like the poem also seems to be doing. Time to experience my own “livery of cars.” Thanks for the post, Bonnie.