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breathing in January
Jan. 30th, 2010 12:45 pmIt may rain again tomorrow.
A bit hefore noon, there flutters a flock of chickadees in plum branches a shade more supple than they were.
And to my rim of broken flower pot half-filled with birdseed comes a Stellar's Jay. All hopping tension and imperious sharp calls as he struts to take the food; sharp of beak and focused of expression. Such plumage: so unblemished and shiningly blue with newness, and on the sooty hood between his fierce black eyes a chevron of blue so pale as to be mirrorlike. All proud and fresh and lovely.
I breathe in this light, moist air and the jay calls twice. All around, everything is whispering about springtime.
A bit hefore noon, there flutters a flock of chickadees in plum branches a shade more supple than they were.
And to my rim of broken flower pot half-filled with birdseed comes a Stellar's Jay. All hopping tension and imperious sharp calls as he struts to take the food; sharp of beak and focused of expression. Such plumage: so unblemished and shiningly blue with newness, and on the sooty hood between his fierce black eyes a chevron of blue so pale as to be mirrorlike. All proud and fresh and lovely.
I breathe in this light, moist air and the jay calls twice. All around, everything is whispering about springtime.
