On a late December eve you
watch a scavenging red-tailed
hawk land in the sling-shot
crotch of a backyard pitch pine
tree competing with a local beach
fox for squirrel and rabbit prey.
You see rusty wrens and bloodshot
cardinals seeking sanctuary from avian
predators among the loblolly pines and red
cedars no longer able to hide
among the bony fingers of fig-tree
branches now exposed by early winter frost.
You think of the hillside shepherds of
Judea and, like them, marvel at how two
poor pilgrims, Mary and Joseph,
survived their Bethlehem quest, seeking
shelter for their sacred Infant on that
holy winter’s eve long ago.
