Back from the mailbox, each raindrop
prisms on my glasses, refracting
the gray afternoon into wild jewels
more valuable than gold.

The rocker awaits in the corner
by the fire.  I pour tea from the cobalt pot,
watch the trailing comet of cream
follow the spoon.  In my hand,
the Christmas card, a red bird against
a stark background of snow.

Words of love blossom silently
on this dark mid-December Tuesday,
the gently sleeping promise of spring
warm in its bed beneath my ribs.

 Photograph Courtesy: MJ © All Rights Reserved