Watermark

Winter Monday

A waft of garlic seeps
into this sunroom from
my neighbor's kitchen.
Chickadees and nuthatches
flit up and down

up and down from the limbs
of the lilac tree. Sun spots
dingy snow. The budgies
watch from their cage
without longing.

Snapshot 07 December 02005

The pond is frozen over, fountain bubbling beneath a crown of thick ice. A friend brings food and a red poinsettia. She tells me bluebirds have returned to the river. This garden is a dance of sparrows, chickadees, finches, juncos ~ and each day, a visit from the hawk.

I shop for long underwear and thick socks. The dogs shiver on their beds. This sky opens so wide, so blue at midday ~ but the days are narrowing down. Why now, in this quarter-moon, pre-solstice darkness, does my old body hum with forgotten desire?

a brush of cotton
my nipples
harden