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Archive for January, 2017

The city is eerily
quiet –
snow
covers the streets,
ice the roads:img_9963
12 inches in one night:
Portland bows
to the rush
of white –
in it’s usual laissez faire
attitude: let the snow
stand where it may,
we’ll plod our way
about
ski
skate
or just plain slide about.
No one takes things
too seriously,
it’s all “cool”
way too cool
for the squirrels
forging
nose first
in the drifts
piled highimg_9955
on their usual
highway of fences.
The juncos eye
the snow beneath
the suet feeder,
hoping for a morsel,
but the bushtits
are too efficient
in their dining.
Finally at sunset,
just before
the full
moon rises
and lights up
this sea of white,
a ruby crested
vireo
and his plain mate
appear,
their huge eyes
peering in the window
as if thanking
me
for their feast.

But by morning,img_9968
the word is out:
starlings
song sparrows
and even a flicker
feed in plain sight,
seed falling
where the juncos
happily
partake,
and in a corner
two
less loved
creatures
share the wealth –
their bald tails
gleaming
against the snow:
young and bold
hungry
to be out feeding
in daylight.
God’s creatures all.

Yesterday at dusk
walking the dogs
plodding
past mounds of snow,img_0005
a peregrine falcon
buzzed me:
the air
so bitter I heard
his wings
before I saw him.
Just as sudden
a murder
of crows
scolded him
from a top a walnut tree:
their calls so loud
the dogs
stopped cold
tails down.
I wanted to laugh
loud
so loud
the ice
would crack
the snow melt
the people run
everything
stop:
so loud
it would carry
to where you’ve gone
higher than the treetops
or the highestimg_0008
building
higher than
the damn full moon
foolest of all –
because
my heart
recognizes your hand
how it sends me
avian messengers
to let me know
you
are still deep in my heart
like the thinnest
sliver of winter ice –
I wanted to sing
and call your name
but the sound
got stuck in my throat
like in dreams
when
we contort our faces
in horror
and open
our mouths
wide
but utter nothing –
gasping
wordless
soundless…..

Instead
I shed a frozen tear,
from the joy
and
clarity of your message.
It’s the same
light
I see in my grandson’s
eyes,
when he looks
wide eyed
enchanted by all
so new
so pure:
it’s this gleam
covering the city,
and golden
around
tonight’s full moon.
And they say
Friday the 13th
is bad luck –
they know nothing.
Bring me a ladder
and let me walk under it,
for there I’ll find you
having the last laugh.

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