“I awoke to a morning more awake than I” or “February 10, 2009″

The wizened cardinal prattles

among the naked tree branches.

 

She looks

down

            on

                     me

as if to say,

“Behold, the Glory of the Lord!”

 

or

 

“Good luck trying to get that little dog

to go inside on a morning like this!

Have a seat. Sip your coffee. Watch. Listen.”

 

She flits and flutters around in the woven mass

of angry branches.

 

But the naked tree seems almost glad

to be bare this morning; standing proudly

on the short, sloping hill behind our house.

 

My eyes follow the hill down.

 

 

Down.

 

To the ugly mess of mud and sandy silt

that lines the street.

 

And I trace the path that the torrents of

molten winter have made.

 

 

Down.

 

 

Down.

 

                                    And off

 

to the distant houses standing small before tall trees

(trees much taller than my angry/contented tree)

 

A wicked, loathsome wind sets them to shaking.

And I am reminded.

 

It is not to be.