it feels late as the light rises and the sounds
young birds freed from the nest's confines
tethered still
or watched over
a chipmunk by the door
new to the world as well
examines a stalk of grass
there is no urgency
only stunned
surprised amazement
this
hummingbird feeder inside
to keep it from freezing
i wake to clear skies
and a rufous chip
stepping outside: purple finch morning
white-fronted geese zag across the pass
mid -February storm warning
a good chance of cranes
moving north
i can hear the distant 'gru, gru' calls
in my dreams,
the sound of renewal
seasons turning
or maybe the return of justice
Antigone canadensis as old as mud
as old as the salt in our tears
