Winter’s Breath

The feeders hanging outside are full

in contrast to the lorn winter scape -

dozens of birds, of all sorts, gathering

to partake frantically, as they dart in; perch

and then fly off again - unto the freezing air;

a depot of visitors arriving and departing

at the cold station stop.

The white coverings are an alluring premise

against the alarming howl of the north winds -

that chill the very life out of the tree limbs

and the grayness across the low horizon

dims the light away from  the eye's demure;

as each heart beat lengthens in-between the minutes

for winter’s breath wrests at the hearth;  the aging bear must sleep.