I wrote this poem on a cold futile winter's day. A theme that often crops up in my poems. I had the thought of waiting for something, usually a lost love or other need, and not being whole until that after the event. Usually, though, waiting entails missing out on a new life of openness. It can mean ignoring potential and new life and loves. After all, we have done and are worried about it's time to take a deep breath and relax. Our hopes and dreams may have already come to and by this time
