In Winter I fly alone,
Here and there.
I don't travel in flocks.
I stand my ground.
The Holly branches entwined around me,
Their bright red berries compete against my plumage.
Am I alone?
The image of me and my tree stare back at you.
Thousands of cards bring me into your home.
I am the image of the season.
Once a year, I connect people back.
Only for a brief minute, as their eyes scan the handwriting.
The card is put on show or discarded into a pile.
A New Year arrives.
My image casually thrown in the recycling bin.
The people who remembered one another....forget.
For another year their brief connection is broken