This February Day

It doesn't seem to be that cold
this side of the window pane.
As sunshine flashes off the trees,
imprisoned by the ice again.
And frozen lances hang in splendor
all in a perfect row.
While sparrows, red birds, and a dove,
search for seeds below.
The thoughts begin to wander some,
as they are known to do.
Past all the signs of winter's grip
and away from window's view.
To that place of mostly green
where honeysuckles filled the air.
With sweet aroma, fresh and clean,
intermingling with the others there.
Creating God's designer scent,
The Master's grand perfume.
Given to each perfect flower,
placed upon each fragile bloom.
A howl of wind and crack of ice
jerk the scene away.
And once again the eyes behold,
this February day.