Like glass-blown gloves

The second day of 2021 dawned cold, not ice encrusted like the first, just cold with the slightest of misty rain hovering, but no freeze. Yesterday, New Year’s Day, the pines were weighed down with the ice, the cardinals spent a great deal of time posing within the frozen branches. At one point two dozen cardinals were showing out. I sing “cardinal party!” when I see so many around the house. The entire lyric to the cardinal party song consists of cardinal party, cardinal party. So, anyone can learn and serenade the birds. I imagine you can sing it to any bird, just throw their name in. It might be awkward to sing tufted titmouse party, tufted titmouse party, so adjust your tunes as needed.

Deborah A. Miranda posted a poem called, The Bones of Things, to her blog Bad NDNS on New Year’s Eve that has this:

“… twiggy fingers encased in ice 
like glass-blown gloves.”

The poem is lovely and vivid and filled with surprise. That I have a picture to place with it just makes me smile. The poem is a bright spot. Something you should go and read now. Run don’t walk. Find someone to read it to. Be safe, be kind.