Over coffee, I sense familiar images
through my kitchen window.
In the dark frost-covered garden,
deer silently munch sparse sprigs.
They lift their barely visible heads,
stare back before bowing again,
continue their meager breakfast.
As I leave for work, their eyes and ears track me.
I do not possess their graceful stealth.
The car turns over and crawls out the drive.
Through the oak forest, the sky blushes.
Cloaked in woods, the deer allow only glimpses.
Their brief sighting affirms winter’s viability:
nibble, retreat, and return.
Local poet and clinical social worker; recent collection: "Nostalgia Resides in the Marrow."