Grasses brown beneath
fallen leaves, but air is not really
cold. Leafless tree-branches shower
in the needed rain.
We pause for devotions
before the Advent wreath,
light purple candles
now that the calendar tells us
Jesus waits to be born of a virgin,
placed in a manger,
to come again as King of Glory.
We wait to move bird feeders—
stored in their summer location—
to the hooks along the railing
of the deck, where hanging baskets
baked in summer sun not long ago,
where squirrels will surely feed
on pillaged seed. But how can we
ready ourselves for Christmas?
People are so human.
Our minds focus on decorations,
on shopping and wrapping,
on ribbons and glitter.
Why even the gusty wind
hurries us along.