Back from the mailbox, each raindropprisms on my glasses, refractingthe gray afternoon into wild jewelsmore valuable than gold.
The rocker awaits in the cornerby the fire. I pour tea from the cobalt pot,watch the trailing comet of creamfollow the spoon. In my hand,the Christmas card, a red bird againsta stark background of snow.
Words of love blossom silentlyon this dark mid-December Tuesday,the gently sleeping promise of springwarm in its bed beneath my ribs.
Photograph Courtesy: MJ © All Rights Reserved