the uninvited

for once my crows
(my noisome watchers)
ignore the shrill complaints
of a wheeling gull
and crouch instead
on snow-tipped branches,
giving way to the whims
of a relentless wind

I’d invite them in
(my boot-blacked friends)
but they’d tease the dogs,
pluck my bright beads
from the lighted tree
and delightedly unwind
every blessed color
in the overflow of yarn

instead I stay ensconced
in dog-warmed blankets
and startlingly bright socks
and watch them accusingly
hunched in what I imagine
is a crowish glare
willing the chill of winter
through my windows

© Sarah Whiteley

The poor crows! It’s bright and beautiful outside at the moment, but it snowed overnight and there’s a very insistent wind out there with a decidedly arctic chill to it. I was swamped by all 5 of Coyote’s family this morning on my walk and I was sure to give them plenty of treats. I think Freyja was a little offended when the father across the street said “look at the birds!” to his little daughter instead of the usual “look at the doggie in the pretty sweater!”

Today is the perfect sort of day for hot chocolate and my largest knitting project on my lap. From where I sit, I can see the crows coming and going, stopping outside my window to see where the rest of their treats are.

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traditions

a maple-glazed ham
yes, with mustard!
instead of the turkey
(no sense in a bird
with just the two of us)

and perhaps too-fancy
French piped potatoes –
in little whorled peaks
instead of the sugary,
too-sweet pile of yams

even the pie this year
will be something new –
pumpkin with a spice
I’ve never used (enough
and more for just us)

closing in on middle age
and still I find myself
stumbling around traditions –
finding or making them up
as I push through the years

and for the day after,
a tree like no one else’s
will gleam in silvers
and blues while I hang
two hundred tiny beads

and all the while dance
to Ladysmith Black Mambazo
like Santa isn’t watching
and be grateful that this year’s
new tradition is you

© Sarah Whiteley