First & Last Ingrid Bruck

Your wouldn’t know we’d had winter except for one late snowfall. The first snow falls a day and a half. Wind carves drifts half way up windows and doors, the top of a ten foot pine plays king on the mountain. Chimes clink, frost closes the windows behind a curtain. A passing flock of hungry birds eat at the feeders, a black line crowds the window sill over the door. Balloons with beaks press on glass, they peer in, we look out. Snowdrifts close roads for three days, our world goes inside. The storm stops, dim sun shines. The end of snow doesn’t bring expected silence, birds in the woods chatter so loudly it could be springtime.

late life child
flash fire
in the hills


Ingrid Bruck is a poet/nature-lover/retired library director. Recent work appears in Howl of Sorrow: A Collection of Poems Inspired by Hurricane Sandy, Yellow Chair and Quatrain.Fish. She is a member of The International Women’s Writing Guild and The Avocado Sisterhood. Published poetry website: ingridbruck.com