Witness After the painting February, by Wim van den Toorn   As it escapes snow leaves fingerprints on the roof,   a crime scene for Spring to investigate that morning when it pulls up.   Half buried behind the house trees wait for questioning, some broken by winter.   Near the front door a bright shrub dissolves evidence   but rocks reappear like memories that waited through the cold.   Today, south is important a compass point for direction, warmth.   Window panes glow like headlights as a car drives away.   Then the sun moves in to X…