Wendell’s window

The first crunch of fragile winter leaves
fell hard upon old listening trees
last year’s greenness left grieving
as nervous twigs await their fate
I wake to the cold light of day
among the jagged pines
and distant birdsongs
a pale sun flickers past my window
revealing a wiry path through the snow
the great heron passive to my thoughts
she welcomes the early morning
and stalks the frozen ground
where we buried our time
it’s yours and it’s mine
as we live and breathe
perhaps one day
you can still make a man from me