Christmas morning greeted us one year
with a thick blanket of vivid snow and
Six turkeys perched in the bare branches of the mock apple tree.
Like a song offered through those boughs,
…My true love sent to me.
Christmas morning last year, another thick blanket of snow.
No turkeys, no flutter of cardinals by the feeder.
Only a stillness, like an aftermath.
In the bare branches of a distant tree
the unmoved stature of a Cooper’s Hawk.
Blood and feathers below
in the silent snow.
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