Four Fat Hens

My new digital clock
shining through fake wood
tells me it is Wed 1/02:
it is backward
in its own way.  I am late today.

Already a day of peace
and industry
as things long noted on the
page, actually happened.

It was cold out
the air bit my fingers
but I enjoyed
moving the logs and
stacking them in the store.
I put food out
for the birds.

I think of path and
motive - of steps
and hopes - of
things I cannot clearly see.

My ship's decanter
has a fat bottom
to stop it sliding when
my deck tilts to the lee
and back again.  But for

now I am at anchor
and four lady pheasants
stalk slowly in my garden
like fat hens.

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