branches full of birds

sleeping in the rain again —

we all dream of sun

driving, blinding snow —

worried at not knowing

where my love has gone

walking into wind

feeling myself a vessel —

a train whistle chimes in

the wind kicks up,

leaves swirling like stirred soup —

I call my mother

cold November day —

a chickadee with ruffled cap

looking overslept

how thrilling to see

an exhausted, storm-tossed bird

take wing again!

rain following rain —

I imagine the meadow

drinking it all in

birds on branches

looking two sizes bigger —

fluffed to fight the cold

the last few leaves

surprised by the morning sun —

I hold on, too