My glum lone patch of sticks and stones and broken bones
lying in solitude on that bare frigid ground.
Wind cutting through the void like a thousand knife blades.
Puffed and fluffed birds huddled shyly on branch edges
anticipating my reluctant pilgrimage.
Seeds, water jug, and billowing unbuttoned coat;
waggish freezing jackrat terrier underfoot;
face all scrunched up against that harsh awakening-
my humble grounds in fitful slumber taunting me
to find grace in what does not easily delight.