(January 18, 2024)
Outside,
puffed birds are acting
crazy today.
Perhaps
they have a temporary blindness
granted them
by whichever, whomever force
can offer kindness on the one hand
as antidote for icy truth
held in another.
Maybe the flappers
are simple, foolish, joyful?
stamping wings the way I would feet
to get warm?
I am glad the long grass
went to seed,
the berries to dry.
My ordinary procrastination at
bracing the yard for winter
worked.
From the rich perspective
of each hungry
beak,
I did good
by doing nothing.
Centred in a frosted
window view,
two future trees,
with youth’s, respectful grace,
accept accumulating loads
of sparse but steady
white flakes.
I believe, dear fellow
living things, seeking to know,
time is excruciating
slow.
One cannot tell
which is beginning,
which,
the end
and if all schemes are ill
or well
or cautious, on the mend.
Robert On The Air 