or the second day of Christmastide or
St. Stephen’s Day. It is when servants
expected to receive a Christmas-box of presents,
food or money. We all expect something
in this cold, dark end of year.
The birds sense winter coming this morning.
Sparrows flutter, fight and search the eaves
for hiding places from the next season.
Blue jays, cardinals, chickadees, all anxiously feeding,
reminding me of things still left undone.
This year was the summer that wasn’t.
Circumstances made the months pass us unnoticed
It was a Southern hemisphere season here.
A winter landscape when summer was due.
Our world’s axis tilted from the sun.
A sunny April day in late January.
A warming strong wind the past days
erased the remaining snow, dried the ground.
I took tea outside and read new poems.
Buds watching me chuckled over my joy.
that clings to the branch tightly closed,
layered in fine colors for the Spring –
unashamed she will show Her yellow petticoats
to me and dances with the wind.
Perfume upon me from an immodest touch.