The snow has fallen. Waking to white; cold, weighty fabric, like wool, spread across the morning. Waking, rising and stirring into silence, the day is tucked in and snoozing.  Icicles pull the windows shut – the weight of the spell falls heavily, tugging down shades of winter – all sealed into crystal.  The coal stove sings a  soulful lullaby, the gentle hum soft and sweet.

Outside the wind twists and snaps currents of light powder, raising it to life; its playing with its puppet, now dancing it here and there across a frozen stage. Small and fancy flurry trails lay as footfalls along its path. A rapping at the window means a suet cage sits empty, the feeder needs seed.

Birds hop, fly and scurry, fighting for kernels and bits of grain, cracking corn against trees.  A red cardinal, glowing like a prayer candle, stands stark and striking, feathers held full and fat. He’s quickly chased away.