A cold and misty light hovers about the trees as if unsure  what to do with itself Leaves under foot crows chimneys exhaling the wind chimes  lay silent on the deck  the metal bars  lifeless limbs the tiny bird house at the top a drunkard's rotting skull of course  he fell no wonder I haven't heard  his song for so long still, his bones will sing again when I hang them near the door better his than mine  at least for now I half feel a small arm  reach through and lock onto the inside of my elbow next to me a phantom  looks up as I lift  my squinting eyes  to the sky it follows my gaze, footsteps, every move  but when I turn around it seems to hide there and not there and I'm left with the quiet of a perfect dawn a hearth  dreams and even when  I'm finally  in a much warmer place I know there will be times I can already feel it when I'm going  to miss winter  and the smell  of burning wood.

 

 

 

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