127. Bluebirds in January

On the thirty-first of January

I long for warmth — hands and feet always cold…

the sun — so far away it doesn’t even melt the icicles

hanging from the roof,

or the snow on the spruce branches.

spruce trees in the snow

Blue skies?

Mostly the dark gray sky just turns a lighter shade of pale;

morning is only told by the smell of coffee.

The cat takes refuge in the warm dryer.

cat in dryer


Yet there are glimmers —

spirit-lifting bluebirds fly around in the snow;

a bit of brown grass shows underneath the pines;

each day brings an extra minute of precious light.

sunset through the spruce

Feb. 3, 2015: Sunrise 7:04  Sunset 5:16  10 hours 12 minutes of daylight… and counting.