February hits in muted grey
Paired with sunless mornings. 
We beg for reds and pinks
In heart-shaped clouds 
And warm winter drinks.

It’s been so long
Since our toes touched green
Softly, gently, carelessly
In fields and meadows
Of safety, play, recklessly 

Laying on our backs
Watching the blue
Mixed with white fluffy sky cotton. 
Imaginations and dreams
Living free, living true. Sorrow forgotten, 

Gathering purples in bouquets
a muddle of Asters, Baby’s Breath, 
Pansy, Black-Eyed Susan’s yellow 
And magentas splashing, growing
In crooks, crevices, unlikely places. 

Orange and chartreuse 
Filling the space
Setting the sun
Pouring out color
Melting into the earth
As paint spills from a canvas 

Until it is winter
And February’s muted grey
Holds the stories of all we have lost 
And what it has cost
To continue to dream
With color in spite of grey. 

Grace Brindle is a leader birthed in the silent fires of the purity movement and the height of evangelical conferences and mission trips. She resides in the Northwoods on the land of the Anishinaabe, on the shores of Lake Superior. Under the mantra “We can only go with others as far as we are willing to go ourselves,” Grace finds her soul and remembers the stories her body holds through the poetry she writes. Grace attempts to resiliently hold creation in it’s poetic beauty at