The poem begins with a messy, unglamorous thaw. Winter is easing off, everyone has the flu, and the backyard drips like an icebox left to defrost. The speaker's tone is wry and a little disgusted ("how vulgar can you get"), especially as melting snow uncovers old garbage. Nothing about the season feels pretty.
Then the mood shifts. The speaker reads a line, "a nest is a bird's house," and admits it's an old, obvious idea. Yet the poem lingers on it, turning the nest into a symbol of closeness and well-being. From there it moves to memory, pictured as a wardrobe scented with lavender, where the history of the seasons is stored. The speaker seems both hesitant and drawn in: memories crowd forward, and we put off deciding whether to use them. Opening them is "an event of whiteness," a quiet, clean, almost blank feeling that contrasts with the muddy thaw. The mood moves from grimy and restless to hushed and tender.