winter Wren

Words by Jane jones

Winter came in through my window like a welcomed wren and landed just so on the corner of my bookshelf. He pruned his little wings and set my teeth to chattering. With stony eyes he looked at me and the song that he began to sing sounded of fresides and stormy skies, icy roads and bony trees, rosy cheeks and chilling wind, windows frozen and ice-trimmed. I lit a taper, listening still to his high and brittle trill much like the weather-worn leaves long collected below the windowsill. And as he lulled me with his tune my thoughts did dance about the room and soon I came to realize that winter had gone, and yet lingered on and from my mouth his song rang out and resounded long into the moonlit night.