Melissa Ostrom

The snow is finally melting, even the pile off the side of the house, that mountain that grew from plowings. Temperatures are easing into the forties. I can spy grayish grass between the islands of snow and the tips of daffodil leaves poking through the ground. Daffs, hyacinths, mud, birds, green: Spring promises all of these, plus, for me, pottery. My unheated studio is fit for nothing but firing