This says so much…
Low heavy sky.
Biting wind and bitter cold.
The emeralds and languid turquoise of
summer reduced to neutrals.
Inside this old house drafts refuse to be tamed.
From a window as cold to the touch as ice
I watch for a sign.
Atop thin tips of willowy branches in a barren bush
a Cedar WaxWing inspects a world stripped of nonessentials.
We are so close our eyes lock.
Each studies the other.
What are we looking for?
What do we hope to find?
Where is the thread that connects us?
Wind gusts, howls.
The ancient Magnolia bends in its breath.
From far away, a dirty plastic bag has filled with bluster and taken flight.
Now it rushes between the bird and me.
Cedar Wax Wing cocks his head, but doesn’t fly.
It’s a stare-down of epic proportions,
one animal exploring another,
each with needs,
each starving to death…
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