she watches
the sky, a tiny
dark eye,
bright
emerald feathers
shimmering
in the
dwindling
light.
she feels the
the pull,
that ancient
migratory
urge
to prepare,
still defending
tongue
siphoned
new england
nectar
but she knows
she must
leave,
abandoning
her tiny nest
woven with my
hair,
for southern
weather
warm and fair
For the Record,
This day came in with perfect September weather.
I retired from public school teaching after happily spending twenty eight years playing in Kindergarten. Now I fill my days watching cat antics, taking endless...
