Feb. 1, 2026
It is where the Christmas trees go
to complete their journey
Four of them now, out
the living room window
Set gently on the edge of the wood
ten feet away
leaning angled against two tall trees
sheltering things small,
against cold and carnivore
It is for mornings like these
when the mercury does not see its shadow
I open my window to the world
and fling the refillings of repurposed
yogurt containers
scooping seeds and sunflower shells
to adorn the snow haphazardly
as the birds do now
in the aftermath
I gradually feel the life and the coffee
reaching my limbs and digits
in this rocking chair that I've kept
forever
and remember not from where
it came
It is of no consequence this morning
the coffee is hot
and the story that plays out as the sun rises
is a tale
of rustled feathers and sparrow-seed
I rock as gentle music fills the room
a lone piano
a sonorous detuned C bass note
on an acoustic guitar
hints of tunes ancient, and memories more familiar
the soundtrack to these moments of survival
framed by a bitter cold
and beams of minimal comfort
streaming sideways through morning trees
I focus
on the warmth in my hand
of the coffee cup
as the cardinal flits
down the branches like a ladder
The wind gusts
some of the seeds speed and scatter
a few feet across icy crust,
penetrated only by the repetitive drumming
of diligent hungry beaks
The bounty is extended to those farther
on the margins
for whom the squirrel chase
or the jay's taunt
will be far enough removed
to not distract focus
from breakfast
For danger lurks, of course
I saw the Cooper's hawk
just yesterday
quite alone
a large solitary figure on a small branch
with an empty belly
and an imperfect batting average
perched in the place where
the song birds were
and will be again
I accept that I may feed him too
even as I pray to something larger
than myself
that I not need bear witness
to this consequence of my action
It is my selfish altruism
to call in the birds to watch;
my entertainment
in exchange
for their sustenance and survival
for some time more
than now
To them
I have fed the world
like some invisible and omniscient being
who makes plenty appear
Did I answer a holy host of
sacred avian prayers?
Whatever their truth might be
I am just one simple soul
who simply did something
to enjoy with my coffee
Sometimes the dark world
works like that
