Offering

 

There's a cat in my lap on a cold and cloudy morning
and tea from a place I have never been,

wooden chairs, wooden floors, wooden tables 
from trees I had no hand in planting,

water from the earth pumped by a well
I did not install, 

apples I did not grow in a bowl I did not turn,
milk and cheese from cows I did not raise,

hay I did not bale 
in the barn I did not build,

birds' winter songs I did not write,
snowy tracks left by foxes I have never met.

All is gift.
Gratitude my offering back.

January Juncos

 

     

    like   
      notes
            without
              a
        staff
            on a
                  score  
                         of
                            snow *

* Thanks to Kurt for the idea!

              

              

                     

Foggy Unknown

The year dawned
grey and gloomy,
fields obscured by fog
swathing us
in mist, 
the perfect metaphor
for what lies ahead,
unknown.

The hedgerow stands
bleak, forlorn,
dried stalks and branches
shrouding
feathered ones
who have come to glean
from seedheads and berries,
nourishment for now,
and tomorrow.

In wild abandon
their songs pierce
the doldrums and lift
our spirits,
Carolina wrens,
harbingers of wonder
in this drab moment,
and beyond.