Snow Birds

Some find comfort in the warmth

of a January afternoon lying on a

beach surrounded by lizards

not made of the stuff to weather

a dip in temperature or foot of snow.

Tramping through a temporary thaw,

I imagine life on the farm with

boot tracks leading to the chores

of the cold months when the work

winds down and quiet is observed.

More than the vitamin D that the sun

soaks into skin been covered in wool,

the hawk’s holler is the calming balm

that resets the mind to natural rhythm,

the tuck of down smoothing time’s lines.

Bird seed escapes out of the feeder -

gloved hands clumsy on the refill,

squirrels are happy for the slop

just as the pigs ain’t complaining of

the scraps of meats not summer’s salad.

The air is champagne chilled and bubbly

causing a nose drip and icicle fingers;

the birds come calling, feathers fluffed,

happy visiting the feeder close to home

in the still evergreen at the back of the yard.

The male cardinals sport bright red-

their breasts full and hips slim;

the woodpecker is colored demurely,

his constant tenor of beak to tree

entertaining the flutter of wings and seed.

Sand does not track into this house,

hot tea returns warm to the senses,

through the kitchen window, winter;

weak hearted souls lost to its beauty

have regrettably flown foolishly south.