Fox sparrows kick under the snowberry thicket,
while chickadees peck about in cedar needle duff
flinging fallen leaves with abandon, foraging
under the gloomy gray November cold sky.
Squirrels, furred and fattened, are not slowed
while brush rabbits, calm, chew grass blades
or just lie low, waiting, on what I do not know.

Winter quickly comes in rain and cold.
I've done what I could for the creatures -
fallen leaves left to molder on the ground,
twig and branch brush heap piles for the bugs.
Here, a pile of small rocks lies still by the fence,
there, cut logs on the ground, decaying and soft
growing lichen as green moss on rock slithers.

It is time to let the yard and all its inhabitants
fend for themselves while I tend my own inner life
within the stillness that only winter can bring.
I'll be glad for the season's lights hanging about
reminding me of how we all are finding the way
through our own thickets where we may hide
and where we may find what we need for life.
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Portland, Oregon - November 23, 2021