it is faith
that always
proceeds flight
Lift Off
Feed The Birds
pinecone’s homage
leaving seeds
looking like feet
Berries Brown And Red
decorating
the landscape
feeding the birds
Flock In Flight
together in the blue and white
while each still
going their own way
Vulnerabilities
pink plastic flamingos
their only predators
the elements, time and asethics
Synchronized Ice
I see the sound
of ice birds
murmuration
Ice Birds
perched upon
the window screen
then rising into flight
Dinner Waits
the crabapple tree
set like a table
for the cardinal and cedar waxwings
All On One Fine Day
cardinal in the tree top
a hawk gliding home
the eagle riding thermals
September Gifts
sustenance for
southern journeys
the sunflower fence in bloom
Wait Together
fog has made
the world small
but still big enough
Come Along
ground bound
my spirit soars
in tandem with their flight
Party Line
intermingling conversations
back to the old days
of sharing the line
Location, Location, Location
birds too admire
a dooryard full
of flowers
Secrets Of The Feathered Fellowship
on gray days
being in community
creates its own kind of sunlight
From Above
reprieved from freezing
a sun warmed soup
of autumn’s leaves
Invisible Work
birds and seeds
plot the creation
of spring
Across The River
on the quiet side of the house
the only voices
are the meadow birds
Darkness Receding
birds stirring
amongst the reeds
the marsh awakens
En Mass
they flew
into the sunset
shepherding light
The Feast Tree
birds of every variation
come, come
and feast in the sun
Keeping Watch
turned towards
the north and south
eyes keen for change
Should The Feeder Be Empty
beneath it
there is
plenty
The Council
convening
at the birdbath
migration is debated
Two Birds
the expanse of the sky
was unfathomable
so they flew together
Rendezvous
every year they meet
at the base of the tree
their love renewed each spring
As the Day Slowly Rises
beneath the surface
the clarity
of dreams persist
Duty
the sentry
guarding the feeder
as dawn wakes the day
All Wet
the mallard and heron
embrace water
from above and below
Mourning Doves In The Afternoon
it’s much too soon
to start a nest dear
it always snows in April