Robin

28th Feb 2019

Here's the photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers. 





Photo : Jean L Hays

 Robin

I hear you first - your familiar song
and my heart begins to soar
I raise my eyes -  there you are
In the tree behind the store.

I stand for a while and watch you
A tear forming on my cheek
For a few brief moments I forget
That the weather is yet so bleak.

Then with joy I remember
That day three years ago
When finally she took her last breath
On that day too, there was snow.

In you flew to the garden
To the tree just outside the room
You gave us a last swansong
As her soul floated up to the moon

Christmas Eve 1968

17th Dec 2018

One Christmas long ago when we sisters walked to Midnight Mass.
We were happy to be out in the snow, in the dark.
Every year we would pray that it would snow for Christmas . It very rarely did.
So this was special and It felt quite magical.


Christmas Eve - 1968

Three sisters – 

exhilarated, excited, eager,

giggling, gabbling, gibbering,  

clad in cozy, coats,
warm,  winter, woolly  hats 

, 

 furry,  frost - free mittens  

and  wellies, in khaki  green-

step out from over-heated   house

Three sisters –

 leave behind,

 and don’t mind,

the atmosphere,

they leave it there

They are out, in the

 cold, crisp night.

 Christmas Eve.

 Snow stars sparkle 

underfoot

 crystals, luminescent in rays of moon.

Soft flakes flutter down,

 like dancing angels

 melt, on upturned faces.

They trudge on slowly,

Perfect white beneath, 

crunching, crackling

leaving foot-shaped indents

heads held high ,

 they are free,

 for now.

In the distance -

 lights of the church,

 draw them onward

the singing of carols 

brings some joy 

to sisters,  sad,  souls

they forget, 

for a while 

what’s left at home, 

at that house.

they find their seats.

they are here for

 Midnight Mass