Winter has now arrived,
the wolf is at my door,
and owls can be heard,
hunting through long dark nights.
Storms have stripped away leaves,
laying bare tree branches,
and safely hidden forks,
with tiny goldfinch nests.
Sparrows huddle closely,
among frosty hedges,
their feathers all fluffed up,
against cold wind and wet.
Winter has descended,
there’s snow up on the hills,
but stands brave viburnum,
clothed in pink blossom still.
