beyond the glass-
the day begins pigeon-grey and featherless-still,
skeletal branches flail in stiff breeze, finger painting
onto a drab canvas, as lead-filled clouds hover ominously,
observing these wild gesticulations, yet unmoved.
And the window seems to cry as the frost permeates
to kiss the glistening black glazing, begging sanctuary.
A Robin flits from fir to hawthorn,
drawn to the startling
bubble-gum-pink viburnum, colour-shouting
from the wasteland of autumn’s revenants,
to settle, a small brown and red puffball,
on the worm-meagre ridged ground beneath it.
Apex roofs hunker down
against the day’s chill bleakness
as brave daubs of weak sunlight try desperately
to push through the murk, skitter across
the snail-trails of frost on the shed-
to plant kisses atop ice covered cars
and offer shy halos to valiant stalwarts striding out
swathed in scarves, layered and booted against winter predation.
But abruptly, a ray of that sunlight pierces
through window and I’m bathed in a rare sun-puddle
tilt face to it, eyes closed, luxuriate,
my own feathers a-fluff,
in that unexpected splash of warm welcome.