The maple tree is bare. The leaves
gone even from the sole red branch
where they clung into December.
I sweep away the shriveled
ochre leaves blown into my house
by a heavy wind. Now it’s overcast
and speckled sparrows joined by
a few red crested cardinals
and blue jays, hover and feed
around the pole filled with black
oil sunflower seeds, I sit
by the window to watch and learn
as pigeons and squirrels
pick up scraps from the soil.
