small hollows
in our cottonwood tree
fill with rain
ruby-crowned kinglets bathe
in secrets only they know
Conjuring
we share
a fairytale moment . . .
this antique book
bound with feathers
and bluebell sap
a citrine
glints on my windowsill
conjuring
the smallest of suns
on this darkest of days
winter departs
only to return, and yet
we are consoled
by the unchanging
certainty of seasons
powder snow
takes wing behind
downhill skis
our spirits lifting, too
on this bluebird day
(note: "citrine" - a yellow variety of quartz)
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