At Winter’s End
The beast of winter eased her need and retreated a day enough to let in a thaw. While airing blankets and filling suet cages, I thought I heard the cackle of red-wing blackbird. Everything I know became you. Hail, the first pilgrim to return to this humble garden. “You were only waiting for this moment to arrive.” [i]
Hope started to rise, but along the walk at Coys Brook, there was only ice and a stiff wind. If only Gluscabe[ii] could forgive us our trespasses. How I miss his starlight. He would tame winter. But, he is long gone to the NorthEast Kingdom of the Abenaqui forever entombed. It is hopeless.
The March winds are sure to rise now and chase the Northern witch back to her lair. She is spun closer and closer to the ebb. I will watch the birds and pray for the gold plumage of the wee finch. Red-Wing Blackbird where are you? Surely you are most welcome here.
[i] Black Bird by Lennon and McCartney