Last Day of February

melt water trickles underfoot

cold white sun lights my face

winter wind still blows



but there is hope

Winter: Dusk

Dampness in
the air

hints that
spring

lurks
somewhere

under all
this snow.

But the
cottontail

is still and
watchful;

he ekes out
meager meals

of fallen
seed

beneath my
bird feeder.

I will watch
for him

to not
return,

like the
dove spurning the ark

when it
found dry ground at last,

only then
will spring

spring
unfurl.













My earlier poems are still available at Poetic Splatter .

Sunset

a passing glance

sparse flakes of snow slowly

one cardinal

Competitive Acrobatics

squirrel

     slides

          plummet

                in a V

          through the snow

     downhill to my feeder

          but it's too cold

for birds to fear:

     they glean the scatterings

               shared by

             the inverted

              vertebrate

Three Haiku for Cold Birds

hungry
titmice and

juncos enter
snow tunnels

made at
night by mice

on both sides
of the

cedar feeder
avoiding

conflict:
two blue jays

his tail
thin as a

feather the
elder squirrel

chases no
bird away