Julie Rosenfield

My journal


A seagull far from the shore

Swoops, dives, glides

Enjoys his feathered flight

A magpie settles on a barren branch

The back of his tail lifts

As he telegraphs his sound

* * *

 This then is winter

The stark landscape

Arthritic trees with stiffened fingers pointing upwards

A scene occasionally relieved

By red berries on grey branches.

 * * *

Slowly, so as not to disturb the game,

I walk on quietly

But, betrayed by the crunch of forgotten leaves,

my thoughtless steps disturb

the flutterings of fledgelings on the football field

* * *

Watching the whirring of their diamond formation,

I stand and wonder until

A sudden sharp smell invades my nostrils –


 * * *

Despite the deadness of the trees

Life still goes on all around me

And soon enough around the next corner

The hope of Spring.


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