MonarchyMinty leaves weave in the tangle of lacework, baubles tossed in by the whimsical operator of an unseen spinning wheel. The winter hollows gleam, olive and deep tea green under the drowsy sway of snowflakes. There is a harsh cawing, for a crow has been disturbed from his evening toast, perhaps by the velvety screech of willow branches on milky birch bark. The cardinals, underbellies robed in burgundy plume, droop like fat cranberries on the ivory boughs and do not reply. A spider plucks up his inky legs and creeps from the unbraided knobbles of a cornucopia of coarse yarn, onto the unfinished wooden floor. In the forest, the cardinals remain