what the day contains

brown drifts of coffee grounds, and the tappings of the black-capped chickadee finding rhythm with the tick-ticking of spring rain on new-green locust leaves the passing hours mold the morning into the firmer lines of day, tracing the flights of fugitive birds - red hawk, wren, house finch, crow, ubiquitous dust-winged sparrow shadows lazily skate … Continue reading what the day contains

writing home

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the small-birds have finally found the window feeder and the dogs are enthralled with their sudden proximity we are well, though feeling the spring in our bones - that gentle eruption debuts a new brand of restlessness the boards of the porch have been too damp for comfortable reading, and coffee for now is confined … Continue reading writing home

uncommon company

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uncommon company comes cawing -purple gracing black- knocks politely on the wood, awaits his morning snack ****Crow Update**** It's been a while since I've done one of these and perhaps it's overdue? Coyote and his mate (now called Magda) had no surviving offspring from the spring's hatch. There's really no telling what happened but I … Continue reading uncommon company

at Talapus

that day at Talapus the jays played in the pines above gracing our fingers with intrepid feet - strikingly light and agile things - like briefly holding a sliver of delight - bright-eyed and fleeting, as joyous things tend to be © Sarah Whiteley

November chickadees

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November chill rusts the dogwood, scatters the locust seeds down the sodden street the maple this year shows an unusual reluctance for red but today gray was made a near beautiful thing - a frame for the darker darts of the chickadees in the yellow goodbye of the chestnut tree © Sarah Whiteley

feathers

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August again, and the jays are leaving feathered remembrances in ones and threes on the sidewalks beneath the trees - showing sweet-shadowed maples the best places for leaves to lay come October © Sarah Whiteley Back with a new look! The idea is to begin incorporating my photography and art into the poetry blog (tiedtosky.wordpress.com … Continue reading feathers

thresholds

a brace of camellia buds, pale gold and swollen, nod knowingly in the rain March puddles may come, but the thrush still shouts when he's discovered his mate April is at the threshold and soon a parish of sparrows will be singing themselves silly in the branches of the wild plum © Sarah Whiteley