Alternate Plumage
The flit of a bird caught my eye this morning
As I soaked in the late winter sunshine
at my kitchen window.
The tiniest of sparrows sat perched on the wood rail of my deck,
And turned his head this way and that - in an instinctual effort
To protect,
To defend
His quick heartbeat and delicately feathered existence.
Balancing there he revealed a slice of orange trailing down his back -
A secret something for my human eyes of appreciation,
But more likely for the lady birds who might come to call.
Had it been a dangerous winter for him and his aviarial crowd?
Was it time to escort springtime out into the crisp March embrace?
Were the worms waking for ravenous beaks to gather?
Or was the ground still frozen with hard hearted indifference,
Forcing my little bird to beg for the crumbs of a stranger?
The questions crowded my head for this little one in my gaze.
Ah, questions.
Maybe he didn't have any.
Of course he didn't!
His hidden tangerine tartan
Gave him all the answers he needed.
His destiny was to trust, and
Allow himself to be encircled
In the arms of safety,
Ready for the promise of warmer days and
Delicious delicacies in the bug section of his
Outdoor grocery store.
