Winter's Morning

Winter’s Morning

On a cold winter’s morning I look out my kitchen window.

My apartment lies on the third floor of the old building.

I float in a world of tree branches.

The leaves are long gone but a couple hang on.

The trees are far from their forest home.

The soot and dust from the city coat them with grime.

But the birds don’t seem to mind.

The bare branches are ghostly in the grey morning mist.

A bird with white feathers in its tail, hops from branch to branch.

I pause studying it as I wake slowly from my sleep.

It cocks it’s head from left to right.

A spark of joy in winter calling out to me.

I gaze delighted in his dance.

As soon as he arrives, he swiftly departs,

Leaving a soft impression in my beating heart.

The tree stands bare but a couple leaves hang on.

RUTH LAMBERT

1/3/2019