By: Linda M Crate

the cardinal
found his way to the branches
of my mother’s tree

which produces too many walnuts
come autumn
which i would carry away by the bucket full

as a girl
to throw in the woods
so they wouldn’t go through windows whilst mowing,

and he sat above the red hot pokers
contrasting with silver skies and white snow
reminding me that winter was not as endless as it

seemed;
giving me a promise of the coming spring
where colors would overtake

these lands in an explosion of flowers and flowering trees
where every bird returned to nest birdsong in our ears
i only had to endure a bit more through

that season of darkness
which is what i tell myself now
because winter again has come: endlessly.