We learn the worth of warmth —
its animal presence offered as free gift,
exchanged in the close steam of breath,
the animal scent part of the intimacy

We value the small suffusing
of heat from the low sun
pushing through the winter’s chill
(thawing paused for the task of
creating fog, moisture released from frost
drifting between trees)

The last glow offered
before the return to frigid
speaks of winter’s charm,
the color and stillness we can enjoy
when we are warm enough.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 12, 2017

The little seeds are nestled
in a sphere of fluff
which can be pulled apart.
The fluff, though soft,
begins to burr into my fingers
as I rub the seeds free

The posts say I need to
make winter for the seeds,
need to keep them cold and damp
until they calculate
winter is done — now, if it gets warm
it’s safe to sprout

They describe it in terms of hormones
but I tuck the seeds in, I talk to them.
Who am I to say what kind of wisdom
has not been passed down,
mother to many future children,
grand dappled limbs
coursing the message of life,
roots to crown, earth to atmosphere,
the record of many winters
to inform this one that will now come for the seeds,
packed and labeled in my refrigerator.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 14, 2016

photo by Edward Mulhern