Poem: Four Seasons

In a nest of twigs

Baby birds open their mouths;

Blind, hopeful, chirping.

A red apple sits

On the sill of the window,

The orchard beyond.

A tiny field mouse

Covers himself in dead leaves

Frightened by my step.

Snowfall overnight—

Bird tracks with prints of cat paws

Following softly…

This article appears in March 2016.