Just yesterday these trees were bare
But now they’re feathered thick with snow.
Such seasoned stillness holds it there.
The world is quiet, cold—although

I spy a cardinal resting on
A bending, overladen limb;
A bright red ruby cabochon
With diamonds to encircle him.

He looks at me a bit askance
To halt my steps. I acquiesce.
He holds me like I’m in a trance
To merge me with the motionless.