Julie Rosenfield

My journal

The Breakfast Club

The long, long winter,

The hard, frosted ground,

A handful of kindness,

A scatter of breadcrumbs,

Breakfast club is open.

* * * * *

In the kitchen, with the washing up,

Standing poised, I wait.

It’s not long till the first guest,

The shy wren, hops back and forth,

Considers the menu,

Unsure of approach.

* * * * *

Not so shy, a bold magpie,

Swoops down,


Crams its beak, once then twice,

Until with a flutter of feathers,

A band of brothers swoop down,

Scattering feathered fellows at the feast

* * * * *

Yet all is not lost,

Crumbs of comfort still,

For the thoughtful squirrel,

Nibbling delicately,

Like a seasoned connoisseur,

And two hopping robins,

Their blazing red chests illuminating

This frozen, white scene.

* * * * *

Just a brief pause, while I dry my plates,

And consider how this picture came to be.

Wheat growers in distant lands,

The work of the harvest,

The kneading, the baking,

   One thoughtful purchase

   And a kind winter’s deed.

* * * * *

And now my dishes are dried,

The garden empty, save frost,

Breakfast club is ended

As another day flies by.


Single Post Navigation

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: