More joyful than tinsel, the birds in the tree,
Soft breaths of ornaments—fluttering wings—
Alight to taste crab apples, ripened not sweet.
As simple as stems, a festive hope brings.
Hanging and hovering in darkest of days.
Red of the fruit—pendant hundreds on stems.
Garlands of waxwings, but none of them stays.
Glimpse of divine, unaccompanied by hymns.
In winter, Lucy Tyrrell spends a lot of time hanging onto the handlebar of a dog sled, enjoying trails through woods and fields in the company of her Alaskan huskies. In summer, she might be hanging on to bicycle handlebars, a canoe paddle, a garden trowel, or dog leashes while walking. In all seasons, her thread is a resolve to spend time in wild nature and use that inspiration in creative pursuits.