Hummingbirds in Spring

A fire crackles in front of me, bedded in the hearth

Gorging heavily on old dry hardwood

As I lay stretched out across the chaise.

It is New Years Eve and a wine glass is dangling

from my hand

a quarter full

of Syrah.

Shadows flicker and skate across the surface

of my glass; shades tease relentlessly

reminding me of demons and devils

dancing under my skin.

Before I allow myself to sink into deeper, frigid waters

Three pairs of small feet stampede into the room

Followed by the chiming laughter of children.

The sound of giggles suddenly catapults my senses

Into the velvet warmth of the wine and the fire;

My cousin’s children dance in front of me for a moment

Then flit away like hummingbirds in spring.

I get up, draining the last bit of blood-red wine

And I join my family as they share tales together

In the safety of the kitchen.