a hot bath designed

to cancel out my fever —

New Year’s Eve cocoon

wondering what changed

as the rain starts up again —

New Year’s Eve

gaps in the wren’s song —

the first day I’ve forgotten

to think of him

a sweet memory

of deciding to kiss her —

the night’s first bright star

blown-out candle smoke —

missing my father

on my birthday

take off your glasses

come look at the tree with me —

planetary pull

words kicking in

just in time to be sung —

oldies station

Christmas night —

we plan our walk to include

the brightest lights

she uses her cane

in public for the first time —

waxing gibbous moon

(In honor of this post by @rikkipoynter.)

three stags

standing at the edge of town —

all antlers and pride

I walk into night

with my back to the moon —

shadows and longing

so full and bright

we can almost see spring —

Winter Solstice moon

where the rain was

a breeze that shakes the branches —

shine and shimmer

this small sharp breath

just the sound of me

thinking I saw you

sweet indulgence —

I comb your hair

with my fingers

dark days, darker nights

sun a longed-for memory —

a sparrow’s three notes

the rain finds our skin —

ducks with their busy legs

stirring thoughts of ice

overcast weekend —

leaning against each other

cut trees still waiting

tonight’s wind

reading the trees for answers —

mid-December dark

remembering

how red those berries looked

in snow last year

with the wind laid down

the cold seemed somehow less so —

still, she took my arm

winter hikes were best

reveling in contrast —

cocoa in the cold

two blue jays

trading places in a tree —

my mother fills his glass

pine needles poking

ice melting into his drink —

Christmas depression

every day

the holly berries catch

a little less light

with his clothes gone

the house seems even quieter —

snow falling on snow

at last you return —

one more layer

to wrap myself in

advent season —

carols I learned as a child

return to visit

starlight through branches

playing a harmonic note

just barely touching

blown-out milkweed pods —

white wisps so close to nothing

I have to touch twice...

weary from the start —

early morning light revealing

my father’s death again

frost in the forecast —

our Christmas card list

shorter again this year