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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 10, Number 2, June 2016

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David J. Kelly
Dublin, Ireland


November the 6th, 2011

Sunday morning, after Guy Fawkes’ night, there’s a change in the air. The rooms in our house are as we left them, yet every one is a little cooler to the touch. Each affords a view onto the brightest of mornings. When you look above the horizon, it’s as if you can see clear into outer space and feel the cold touch of infinity. Outside, the warmth of the sun is scant comfort. Stark shadows suck the heat from pedestrians who dare to leave that bright light.

exhalation
bonfire breath
the fresh air burning

Dog-walkers are thickly wrapped, car windscreens are opaque and, miraculously, the late roses are unflinching. Their yellow faces beam back at the new season. Even so, plummeting temperatures have consequences. The birds are hungry this morning. There are disorderly queues around our feeders. Each species has its favourite seed, but today the imperative is food rather than flavour. After such a cold night a hearty breakfast could make the difference between continuation or collapse. The winter weather has clearly come as a surprise to many; their feathers are fluffed up like ski jackets.

after the first frost
in a bright, bittersweet dawn
sparrows sun-bathing

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