The cold and seemingly desolate freeze: solstice's crystalline mask, marquees a churning and yearning beneath its glassy façade.
In its fortified depths, and with each cracking twang of icy tectonics, River cries out to its distant love, "Come Spring, I am yours, sweet Ocean; but first I must soften."
For its part, Ocean lovingly waves, bides the tides singing in shells, and naming each hourglass grain.
Once hardened, River cannot thaw itself by will. Ocean beats itself against endless shores, but no further.
And so they wait: separate, but together in devotion, for the new season.