December 20

Driving home,

we couldn’t find a robin for our small tree

but we are rewarded by the low December sky

seen through winter woods.

How would you render that?

Free-machining on felt, she says

or dyed silk.

No both.

Intricate branches stitched black and fine

on shining sunset, colours run and merge under a hem of soft felt clouds.

Ephemeral light, inconsequential, worth remembering.

Tomorrow the year turns.

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