A Grey December

from my kitchen table

cold

and

threatening rain

it is a December morn

feels like soup

like snow might fall

like influenza and bronchitis and pneumonia are all around

and winning

feels like blankets

and sedentariness

a hibernating flow

but that’s only justifiable for bears

But don’t tell the birds

they are everywhere

all over our backyard

flitting

and

flirting

chasing

diving

they perch

on bluebird house, of course

they may not nest this month, but they still seek the throne of power

and they rest on zip-line

it is steady and calm while children are off to learn

and they peck near frozen bunnies

it’s not that cold

but hares’ stone veneer won’t budge

without a miracle of a Medusa sort

and now, abruptly, the yard is without fowl

just when I am stirring to a second wind

I have no idea why they’ve departed

who knew birds could punctuate