Hawk in Winter

by Kevin T McEneaney

When the brittle crunch of ice underfoot

rings in your ear on a winter morning

as a hawk sits majestically in tree,

one knows midwinter freeze is serious

for cheeks, loins, ears, head, imagination.

That still hawk may be an expert on it.

Winter is the season of the skeptic,

the teapot, hat, glove, coffee, and carrots.

Also, anxiety about wood pile

diminishing daily under gray skies.

A winter nap will erase many chills—

one awakes with feeling of missing naught.

Don’t bother to check the temperature.

To expect the hawk to fly is too much.

Kevin T McEneaney

Author of The Enclosed Garden and Longing and other books