Blue spruce holds in her generous arms

the whipped cream snow junco ushered in

two nights ago.

In deep dark came his hooded head

and spread wings at the window glass.

As the wind changed, from still

to sweeping, he danced from the blackness

all flutter, gentle and strong,

up the door pane, over to full window beside

and back again.

Back, forth, up, down,

when do songbirds ever enter the night and dance?

Here, at the front edge of the storm,

he arrived, to sit

finally on the low lip of the door frame

and look in with yellow-orange beak

and open breast.

After his hilly flitting away

the snow began falling.

And I smile at the generous arms of the blue spruce

who perches the birds every day.