February In the burnished light of winter the different greens reveal themselves – pulse of spruce, metallic sheen of pine & the glow of the cedar’s golden green: Bright neon of moss where the wind has kicked the snow away. ________________________________________________ Hmm . . . looking at this now, I don't like it as much as I did at first. Not crazy about those three uses of of in the middle part. And clearly, the poem is really just an excuse for the verb kicked, weakened, I see now, by has. (I had a hard time deciding between kicked & scuffed.) The problem is that the language doesn't successfully embody the perception, which is that there are subtle differences between the kinds of green one sees in a winter landscape.