In over the dark,
Light settled on the
Bone limbs of branches.
A covering sigh
Of winter’s last whisper.
An overcast came down
To surround our small
House in the wood.
Afternoon winds on the way
To dust off the etchings
Of grace, of the silence.
Yet, for now, I can
Rest my eyes on the
Cold insulation of a
Forest waiting for full
Spring, white to green.
Gerald the Writer 
The strength of longing. It’s like awaiting the Kingdom of God, “Almost, but not yet.”
I love the contrast of the orchid indoors suggesting the longing for tropical climes rather then what is seen beyond the glass.