Every Wednesday

Every Wednesday I will post something about grief. Sometimes it will be a reflection on an aspect of grief’s landscape. Now and then I will share from my own journey of grief, because in the sharing of our stories we find strength and build a community of people that support one another.

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Monday, January 1, 2018


           January 1                    Mark Liebenow

Zero degrees this morning
as if there was no temperature.
The world postcard still.
No creatures move.
I breathe the crisp air in slow,
not wanting to freeze my lungs.

Steam curls from neighborhood rooftops.
Thick snow covers the road and my mailbox.
Black tree branches brush haiku
across the white paper landscape.

The woods are silent. 
No birds at my feeder of sunflower seeds.
Deer have not followed the creek’s path up
to paw through the white crust
for green moss underneath.

Zero is a door between. 
What will be born in me this year?
What will die?

Dawn trails pink across the frozen horizon,
warms the air to eight degrees. 
The crystalline world sparkles in sunlight.
Crows glide across the frosted sky. 

A cardinal sweeps to the feeder.
his feathers bright red against the white. 
Wrens come, then chickadees,
a Downey woodpecker. 
Their sounds return life

to the brittle forest.