Blizzard sifts and swirls without, accumulating insistent inches. Pressing up against the windows’ panes, collected snow peers inside. We are fortunate of our warmth.
Snow Against Glass — An Image
White Ash — An Image
In Greenwood Cemetery, the White Ash lifts sinuous limbs, etching the flattened plate of January sky.
Deja Vu — A Poem
Particled lines of light
glance through the kitchen window;
drone of radio,
and dishwasher’s chant;
unsettled kettle, so near to boil;
the knife in my hand
that snicks through kale,
ribboning leaves —
Each entwines and elevates
the sense of expectation —
They gather on the side steps,
forty-five minutes late or
two seasons early,
bearing creation and song…
Fluid time slides around me,
eddying forward and back,
and I stand motionless,
sharply aware of the slim line
separating premonition
from memory.
— C.Birde
Sycamore — An Image
The Sycamore’s distinctive and mottled skin is beautifully revealed once its leaves have drifted free. Often, I walk past this tree and its siblings, and have seen the trio clothed in Spring’s green and festooned with compact pom-pom seedpods. In Summer, they shed like snakes, curled sheaths of bark accumulating in the grass at their feet. But I think they might be most striking when plucked bare by Winter’s touch.
Antique Cherry — An Image
The antique cherry wears a gown of quilt-worked bark.
Breaking Chocolate — A Dream
I dreamed I stood with my back to Autumn on the eve of Winter, and though I called out, I could not be certain my voice would carry over the noise and clamor of shortening days and encroaching dark.
Despite the graying cold, we threw open the doors, and the house filled with warmth. Cheer and laughter and conversation wove a skein, each thread a shining filament kindled in our hearts that lightly bound us all. We broke chocolate together, and ate sweet-tart kumquats, and swallowed crimson pomegranate seeds. We sipped effervescence and lit the evening with a pale, warm glow that warded darkness.
Scattered about, I found unexpected tokens — owls of wisdom; a likeness in powdery charcoals; tiny cakes; words and raven linked by slim chain; a soft beam of sunlight; edible spells bound in paper; and a tiny, shining, golden dragon.
We parted with smiles and embraces; but the warmth — now fed and strengthened — remained. A dream come true.
Sprite — An Image
I am fortunate this creature found me intriguing enough to make her presence known, and elated she allowed me to photograph her. We sat together a moment, amongst the leaf-fall and gilt trees, sipping cold, sweet dew from acorn caps while admiring the advancing morning’s play of light and color. Then, without a word, she vanished. Sprites are mercurial that way.
Young Beech — An Image
A young beech gathers sunlight in its parchment leaves and whispers of an Autumn reluctant to depart.
Merriam Oak — An Image
Merriam Oak has let go a sheaf of bronze-bright leaves, each as large as my booted foot, or larger. To walk beneath these bare and spreading boughs is to kick through a three-season journal, each leaf an entry, while the author prepares for rest and reflection during the spare Winter days to come.
Morning Walk — Images
We walked this morning. Two bipeds, one quadruped, together breathing in a mild mid-morning.
Rattlesnake Meadow flickered with a wind’s breath that slipped between blown cattails. Snowbirds tittered and darted with sparrows too quick, too subtle for my eye to name.
A Red-tailed Hawk skimmed the meadow’s reed-sawn edge to roost in a slow-decaying tree. Patient, he surveyed the landscape. So much hidden within those pale grassy blades — I missed the Snowy Egret; I’m certain he did not.
At our walk’s end, a white-tailed deer wove ahead across our path, unconcerned by our intrusion. A fortunate start to a late-November day.