Bitter
Wind – torn
Soul and Limb
Mid- winter
Turning
Births Light
Brigid’s Crown
Is made of Fire
Beloved Birds
Begin to Sing
Oak Tree’s
Sacred Well
runs Deep
and Pure
Gnarled trunk
Twisted branches
A few crisped
Leaves sway
Overhead
New buds
Tightly wound
I bow to
this Forested altar
a bare tree
awake with longing
Offering ruby seeds
Tasting a few
Turkeys twitter
My dove coos
Sprinkling holy water
We cross
The Threshold
( my animals and me)
at moonrise
Body holds the key
Rabbits and Hares
Cavort at Midnight
Silver snow
Caverns
of Ice
Frigid winds
Brigid’s Moon
Belongs to Bears.
Over The Edge and Beyond: Journal of a Naturalist 
Very nice poetry! We’ve been lucky, weather-wise, here in the Midwest. Stay warm!
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Thank you Tom…I’m glad things go well with you….and here – well warm temperatures all winter except for deep freeze… but I miss that lovely fluffy snow that made it a pleasure being in the woods…. Ah we must accept the changes – I remember listening to old people like me talk about the past….. now I get it! We talk about experiences that the young have not known…. Sadly now they may never know…
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