January at the Cabin

This poem has always spoken for itself and so it is today.

January at the Cabin

Early this morning

the sun stepped out

before it realized how frigid

the air

then tucked itself

uner a handy throw of clouds.

So far, only a lone raven

and two jays

brave the winter breezes.

Outside our window

no chickadees or finches

forage for food

despite the newly seeded feeder,

our sporadic handouts too erratic.

Two weeks of no sunflower seeds

and skepticism prevails

before they spot our time limited,

all-you-can-eat buffet.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor