the sound of a page turning
ceramic creamers
silver glitter
coffee on a cold morning
ice in a glass
handwritten letters in the mail
snow in january and in february
beads and bangles
green on a grey winter day
the space between night and morning
these words: zephyr, qi & jezebel
in the mornings, i look for hoof prints in the soft and snowy ground and when they are there, my heart skips a beat
chocolate with coffee
balsam candles in perpetual burn
new books and old books
(new: The Moth Presents: All These Wonders
old: Daily Rituals by Mason Currey)
fresh calendars ready to use
brown bread with pecans and raisins
this show: Parks and Recreation
visiting with friends on cold winter nights
naps in the afternoon sun
i asked her, “if you were a bird, which bird would you be?”
and she answered so close to my soul:
“a raven.”
Happy Holidays and Feliz Año Nuevo.
I’ll see you again in January. Be safe and warm.
This morning i walked outside and saw two mourning doves in the trees. There was also an uncharacteristically quiet blue jay flying about. It was early, the mist was rising from the snow. The sky was a light grey that contrasted with the tree silhouettes; nearly brutal in its definition.
It is a new day, what shall we make of it?
changing through the seasons –
she now stands bare and exposed
a tiny worm–
in its grand wormness
it was as light as the future,
and as heavy as the past
a sprinkling of snow in the woods,
and of sugar in hot coffee
and of friendship on this late November day
spanishwoods 