Window To Her World

Bevy of blackbirds, not baked in a pie,
but a blight to her keen eye.
Starling, grackle, cowbird.
They swarm, an iridescent gathering.
Feasting on every valuable seed
meant for their diminutive brethren.
The shotgun crack of her knuckles
against the glass panes scatters.
As one, a dark rising, moving on.

From the five-o-clock position
near the silent floor fan,
the meadow rises green and unbroken.
Fawn and mama deer wander in search.
Hoping for every valuable seed,
She cranes her slender neck.
But the feeder is more deer-proof
then clever squirrel-proof.
They bound past the pod-laden catalpa.

Juvenile cardinals, skittish and scruffy

rub wings with their tufted cousins.

Their parents chip, chip, chip as

ruby red papa scouts for his mate.

Hankering after every valuable seed.

Each one a holiday ornament,

adorning bush and tree alike,

both in and out of  "'tis the season."
A royal family holding court.

The counted busy sparrow.

The undulating sunshine flight of the goldfinch,

upstaging the purple and house of his ilk.

Mister Indigo Bunting alights on rare occasion.

Desiring of every valuable seed.

Even with the robbery,

there is always enough for nuthatch

and tufted titmouse dining.
Even the yellow-bellied sapsucker.

Beyond the neutral sheen of curtains, 

past the army green utility box -- number 28736,

is a world of hummingbird vine

and avian houses, of heady tottering sunflowers.

Falling with every valuable seed,

the rise and fall of a living space

entices her to engage in its rhythm.

Familiar and new at each dawning.
A friendly place for the soul.

(Written for my mother.)
-gsv