I’d forgotten about the starlings –
had drowned their raucous cacophonies
in the deepening days of August
until just now, the noisome rush
plummeted into the honey locust,
whose yellow is now heavily inked
by the sudden weight of wings
© Sarah Whiteley
these long weeks while
the locust tree sleeps
unheeding of the rain
that drips from stems
and limbs, the seeking
beaks of the crows pull
seeds from their dangling
brown pods – a meager feed
worthy of the gray,
hungering days and watery dusks
outside my window
© Sarah Whiteley
One of a poet’s many blessings – any weather is poetry weather. 🙂 Happy Friday, my friends!
ebbtide 