Notice how the snow is pink as it was glowing white last night in the reflected rays of the sun
The same sun that paints every eastern cloud with shades of mind and pauve —
no no —
shades of pink and mauve.
Sam the Piano man comes this morning to tweak and tune and admire my piano
so forlorn, abandoned
in the gelid still air of the master bedroom
which is warm only in the service of passion in the early afternoons as the sun
glows through the condensation and frost on the windows and
hot breaths of desire lade the air with humidity to fuel these frost fantasies that seem like primordial forests of fern etched on the window panes
The bird feeders are empty.
I contemplate going out to fill them in my slippers but a quick glance at the single digit on the indoor/outdoor thermometer
convinces me that
boots with felt linings scarf gloves jacket hat
are all a very good idea
So I don my armor and venture out into the snowy yard
not so fresh any more but written on the soft face of the drifts are
the tales of yesterday’s foraging, the panic flight the brush of huge feathers and a tuft of little downy grey ones
left behind
The feeder was not so empty yesterday
As I fill it I hear the first soft inquisitive gold finch morning talk
a rising inflection of whistle and chat
Is there food there is food I hear water running clear
Where is Mabel?
THERE’S A SHADOW! Floating fast across the field
Suddenly the yard is empty
Every bird has instantaneously dis-encorporated into atmosperic atoms
I finish pouring the primo black oil sunflower seed into the metal tubes
Raise them on a steel wire above the steel squirrel baffle
that stymies them utterly in the way it floats on the supports that are bolted to the pole
banging ringing gently in the merest breeze
I spill some seeds for the starving rodents liberally on the ground
Come inside stomping snow and breathing frozen fog
glad I left my glasses inside.
the havens 