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.
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