Rocking
By Cindy Owsley

Sitting in my rocking chair
in front of an expanse of glass
that looks out into the woods.

A thermal cup with hazelnut coffee
much too weak, white and sweet
for a true connoisseur.

My calico companion sits on the sill
with an enthusiasm equal to
but much different than mine.

I suspect she imagines herself as
a much more integral part of this
February ritual than do I.

The guests outside push and shove
gorging themselves on suet,
cracked corn and sunflower chips.

The myriad of colors, shapes and sizes
presents a constantly changing
kaleidoscope of flitting feathers.

As the dishes remain dirty in the sink
I wonder if I'm wasting my time
or savoring the best of it.