Perched atop golden,
fluffy cattails, confidently
exclaiming, Here I am!
Crimson red wings,
glowing in contrast to
his black-as-night body.
There is no mistaking him,
and I think he knows it.
His ability to remain
perfectly balanced on
such a fragile stage.
His “I did it my way”
anthem soaring across
the field, remarkable!
I’m not sure whether
to bow, smile, or perhaps
simply call Bravo! Encore!
I picture them perched
along electric wires
carefully watching
as we pass by.
I wonder what they think of us?
Are their conversations more
logical than ours? Friendlier?
They sing such sweet melodies.
Yes, they also squawk
and screech, but for a
purpose-imminent danger
or a particular need.
I can hear them now
calling each other
back and forth across
the yard, tree to tree.
Hey there! Will you fly over for a visit?
Sure! Let me finish feeding the babies.
I gathered some extra twigs to bring you!
Thank you! See you soon!
Perhaps we could learn
from the birds if we
intentionally listen
and quietly observe.
Perhaps we could learn
from each other
the exact same way…
Clouds could not contain
its brightness-squinting
I looked only long enough
to snap two photographs
Side by side, the difference
was slow to appear, slight
adjustment of time, seconds,
but a revelation for eternity
Closer to the light than
I could ever hope to be
flying across the sky
wings spread wide and free
Light held in clouds
yet, bright enough
to carry him forward
into the hope of his future
I have never seen
a blue so pale, barely blue.
Blurring the lines
between sky and cloud.
Still blue, only subdued.
The mood emanating from
those muted hues
is quite opposite from
this morning’s bird songs.
Playful conversations
I could only observe,
no matter how closely
I listened. Smile-inducing,
even without understanding.
Perhaps there’s a lesson
in the comparison.
Pale blue-an accurate description
of my current mood.
Playful conversations-an indication
of future possibilities.
An intriguing coexistence.
Yes, I am aware.
Some details are missing.
Try to see the bigger picture.
That sounds logical, at first.
As if acceptance makes it easier
to continue down my path.
But then I notice the
smallest of wonders.
From the edges of a nest,
straw is poking out where two wooden
beams are nailed together.
A mother bird is sitting quietly on her eggs.
Seeing the big picture is impossible
without consistently returning
to the small moments.
The fuzzy head of a nestling
is barely seen from the ground.
The nest is crowded with fledglings
almost ready to fly.
Each tiny step in nature, somehow,
a reflection of my life.
I don’t want to miss even the tiniest feather.
Do you ever feel like the clouds
Are moving across the sky
Just for you?
A chance at amazement
An opportunity for imagination
Do you ever think the morning birds
Are singing their sweet melody
Just for you?
I’m certain I heard a song
Meant just for me
The other morning-
Floating clouds, singing birds
Pulling me away from outside worries
Into their world –
A place of safety between my thoughts
And all the noise around me-
A place not easily seen, but felt
In the same breeze that carries the clouds
And the bird’s song right into
The middle of my soul
I wrote the above poem in a recent writing circle. Another one of those sweet, safe places. 🩷 A huge thank you to Ali Grimshaw for facilitating.
Tiny feet
Not typically
What I would
Notice about you
Yet, there you were
Quickly crossing a busy street-
I slowed down a bit
Smiled as you
Made it to safety-
Why didn’t you fly?
After all, you have wings-
For a reason unknown to me
You chose not to use them-
Perhaps the wind was too strong
Or the distance was too short
No matter, your resolve
Shown through with each tiny step-
I suppose, sometimes tiny steps
Are more than enough
When the Glass Breaks is a collection of poems divided into four sections: Living, Breaking, Mending, and Reflecting. Today, I am sharing a poem from the second section, Breaking. Thanks for listening! ❤️
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A thin layer of ice
Covered the ground
A few inches of snow
Covered the ice –
Below-freezing temperatures
Caused a full-stop –
Sitting quietly inside
Wrapped in a soft blanket
Purring cat on my lap
I did nothing productive –
Only sat – watching
As the birds hopped
From trees to feeders
To snow-covered ground
Then back into the trees-
Except for this one crimson cardinal-
He perched on the feeder
A little bit longer-
I’d like to think
It was just for me
A cold morning mystery
Footprints in the snow –
Perfect indentations of tiny talons
Two by two by two
Hopping a playful path
With no apparent beginning or ending-
Perhaps they flew in from
The nearby row of Loblollies-
A frequent layover for traveling
Families of cardinals, doves, and finches-
A peaceful place to refuel and rest
If only for a season-
A cold morning mystery
Footprints in the snow
Though not a mystery
Requiring a Holmes-like sleuth
One that created curiosity and smiles
Piano Girl 