Piled four fingers high,
On the still, once green, pine branches.
The tree a white caked couch
For the bright red cardinals.
The muffled silence and chill-breeze
Whisper morning peace.
The red dots rearrange themselves
By nature’s clock.
Gregg Dotoli is a white hat hacker who works for a large corporation, keeping organizations safe. A resident of Nutley, New Jersey, his first love is the arts and he enjoys the rich culture of nearby NYC.
I simply fell in love with the way this poem moves me so sweetly from a close-up view of the snow on pine needles to the movement of red dots-- the birds from a much longer range of distance, creating the mood and aroma itself of winter. I'm lingering long in the world of this poem. Posted 02/14/2016 04:04 PM
It's 6 degrees where I am. Love that "muffled silence" and the last two lines. Posted 01/10/2016 08:03 AM
Sweet. I worry about birds and wildlife, too. 4" as high as a Cardinal. Posted 01/10/2016 06:54 AM