The Midwives of Winter

In the deepest cold
we, the creatures of the north,
exchange pithy glances
beneath our layers

mumble under our breath,
nearly frozen and stiff-spined,
muttering something about the sun shining
or the lack of snow.

The most shrewd survivors
of the climate smile,
lips sticking to teeth
and eyelashes careless,
tears gathering like icicles,
yet non-responsive to the staring of strangers.

We are the midwives of winter
coaching the determined through the crowning
and toward the birth,
even when others have given up hope
of ever seeing spring slip through
without a bit of pushing.

We wait with faith and the understanding of the turning of everything
toward light and that the earth under the gathering snow
will warm and deliver us with the delicate joy
of the most secular of flowers.