An anti-climactic New Years day
The way that snow fall's
is in a hushing.
In the white-topped hedge
a bedraggled collection of nest building material,
all that is left of what once was home to its feathered occupants now long gone
doubtlessly having fought turbulent ways to
In the slushed street
a woolly clad boy pulling his sledge
to a deeper snowed on location, peers at me
from between scarf and bobby hat.
His Father brings up the rear
listening to what sounds like an angry cell phone voice.
All feels like an empty aftermath
all seems lamentable.
The leaving of the birds, the end of a love affair
and another yearly subtraction to my life.
Yet the little cherry red-nosed lad
oblivious to these sadnesses, is for now blessed
with what only matters to himself
and is unlikely to have been aware of
the remains of the bird's nest
my jealousy of his innocence
or his Father's colder than Winter tears.