Thursday, December 13, 2012

A Grey December


from my kitchen table
cold
and
threatening rain
it is a December morn
feels like soup
like snow might fall
like influenza and bronchitis and pneumonia are all around
and winning
feels like blankets
and sedentariness
a hibernating flow
but that’s only justifiable for bears

But don’t tell the birds
they are everywhere
all over our backyard
flitting
and
flirting
chasing
diving
they perch
on bluebird house, of course
they may not nest this month, but they still seek the throne of power

and they rest on zip-line

it is steady and calm while children are off to learn

and they peck near frozen bunnies
it’s not that cold
but hares’ stone veneer won’t budge
without a miracle of a Medusa sort

and now, abruptly, the yard is without fowl
just when I am stirring to a second wind
I have no idea why they’ve departed
who knew birds could punctuate
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