Bird Feeders
Snowflakes softly called me to my window,
opened.
My bare arm extended
above the bed
of dormant rhododendrons,
a memory, from across the yards,
returned from days of watching
my neighbor's birds
at her feeder,
that also came to mine.
My arm, resting on the light covering,
felt chilly. More snow
was due
that week of waiting.
Many years have gone by.
I had a small angel
with a broken wing, a crystal
star,
Scandinavian figures that weren't Santa,
but Christmassy.
One year,
I took them off the kitchen table,
carrying
each
to hang
on low branches
of a tree whose name
is lost to memory.
It had to be taken
down.
But memories,
recorded well,
stay,
as with this month,
one that cheers my heart.
My realization is, "Christmas may bring more than gifts in paper and ribbons; it may also bring memories of other Christmases as gifts unwrapped.”