Winter has officially been declared.
The kitchen birds are unadorned.
The winter months lack celebratory symbols.
The birds no longer wear the bells of Christmas.
The acorns and leaves of fall.
The tiny Easter eggs of spring .
The flowers of summer.
Last night’s dinner party menu
arranged with an eye toward using
the last of the holiday largess from the freezer.
The bag of shrimp.
The tiny filo pastry shells,
defrosted and filled with goat cheese
and dabbed with the last of the lovely pot of fig jam.
The bag of cranberries folded into a pie.
The French bread, sliced and grilled,
topped with a Tuscan bean spread.
Farewell to holiday pleasing appetizer spreads.
Freezer now free to welcome
a backup supply of soups and stews.
Warming, savory snow and ice defying comfort food.
Sit by the fire kind of food.
To everything, there is indeed a season.