Common Redpolls

This year, they were anything but –

Until Saturday morning, when about 50 birds,
red-capped and frenetic in late winter plumage,
foraged the seed-midden beneath the feeder,
a winter’s chickadee and blue jay detritus
newly snow-free for the picking.  I watched

From the kitchen window, eating my oatmeal,
with a clear view of what it means to be inside
and out.  My days are cauled by a membrane
of vague spirits that wake at night in lucid dreams
of flight.  If I stepped out of this warm, windless place

To walk among the birds, they would surely scatter.


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s