Having shed their colorful burden,
Gnarled knuckles resume their upward climb.
The topmost twigs press on as if to touch tips with God.
Only the naked shrubs shoulder an added weight,
As swarms of sparrows seek shelter from the crisp winds,
Transforming the sleeping flora into a puffy feather willow.
Soon the flock will disappear into the coming cold,
Like the leaves hidden beneath downy blankets
Until the spring thaw strips them bare.
Despite these revolving evolutions,
Their absence creates a loneliness.
Like the last gasping embers of a discarded cigarette
With its wispy smoke racing down the chilled concrete,
All the ice, mud and snow can't fill the void left by the fleeting citrus cacophony.
The thinned canopy now oddly unbalanced,
The trees liable to tumble into the sky for lack of counterbalance
Until the return of their avian anchors
And the bursting neon of buds.