There comes a little space between the south
side of a boulder
and the snow that fills the woods around it.
Sun heats the stone, revels
a crescent of bare ground: brown ferns,
and a tufts of needles like red hair,
acorns, a patch of moss, bright green.......

I sank with every step up to my knees,
throwing myself forward with a violence
of effort, greedy for unhappiness--
until by accident I found the stone,
with its secret porch of heat and light,
where something small could luxuriate, then
turned back down my path, chastened and calm.

"Depression in Winter" ~ Jane Kenyon