he stands in his crib
smiling and waving at me
where have ten months gone?

the road to Houston
firewheels and sunflowers sway
along the shoulder

leaves whisper
a cumulus plume
turns the hour

just east of Houston
laughing gulls replace vultures
in the raucous sky

Easter evening
a distant white-winged dove calls
clouds drift south

a pair of deer
stops grazing to watch us pass
daylight fades away

dry live oak flowers
a withered rain following
each southerly gust

the chickadee sits
on her nestlings, each breath
a feather’s tremble

—

I think I’ll be posting my small stones here for NaPoWriMo and maybe past that. I’m not sure I want to keep maintaining two blogs. We’ll see.

this backyard wildlife…
a congregation awake
discovering spring

≈

a new mourning dove
on the fence by the feeder
studies the others

≈

young squirrels—
so much thinner
than the adults

≈

a new family
house sparrows chirping
the busy backyard

≈

six house finches
learning the hummingbird feeder
sun-sparks in water

≈

fledgling goldfinches
flap inexperienced wings
on Easter morning

—

This weekend, we were treated to families of lesser goldfinches, house finches, house sparrows, mourning doves and fox squirrels coming around the backyard so the adults could show their young where to find the food. The juveniles were clearly just out of their respective nests as they were following the adults around flapping their wings and chirping to be fed. It’s never long before the babies figure out how to find food on their own at which point they will be indistinguishable from the adults.

I’ve seen this in the backyard with black-crested titmice, common grackles, mockingbirds, cardinals, Carolina chickadees, and Bewick’s wrens, and it’s one of the joys of feeding birds (and squirrels) but I’ve never seen so many at once.  It was, quite simply, stunning and humbling. Songbirds don’t live long and most don’t even make it through their first year, but I like to think that at least some of these birds will be out there for a while, maybe waiting for me to count them one day down along the pond trail.

—

Publication announcement: My haibun “The Grackle Tree” from my Birds Nobody Loves series is in the latest issue of the ‘zine Nothing. No One. Nowhere. Thanks to the editors for publishing it along with so many other wonderful poets. It’s an honor to be included.

Along a southeast Texas highway, alone in a field, a missile points into a blue sky from behind a screen of trees, their lower trunks blackened in a perfect line by Hurricane Ike’s saltwater surge. The missile’s joints are rusted and whatever markings may once have identified it and warned away godless commies and damned Yankees are long faded leaving behind a tattered egret-white coat of peeling paint. No identifying information lurks at the base unless it’s been swallowed by the grasses of the coastal plain, which in a less droughty spring would now be alive with the ten thousand shades of a wildflower revolution.

a rusted missile
aimed toward the springtime sky
windblown prairie grass