Near Winter

The shadow of a bird

perches on the shadow of a branch

stretching across my glossy oak floor.

We are near December

and we feel ourselves between

the give and take of the season,

between the wind-surge that riles the trees

and the simmering of the afternoon sun.

The jay's shadow-crown is ruffled.

His tail pinions dip and snap back like a baton.

The black staves of the shadow birch

lurch, leap and, finally, still.

And then

I see him in the center of the floor:

his shadow-head like a rain cloud

or a barren mound, his black pen prodding

shadow-words across the oak-dark page.

Observed and observer, we stare, a standoff,

as the evening settles like dust in the room.

I'm waiting to see what the shadow will do.

He's waiting in hopes I will make

the first move.

About these ads
Sponsored Content by LockerDome

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK