I hear the sounds of a fading February:
Water dripping from the frieze of ice along the eaves,
Thuds of softened snow sliding from the roof onto the deck,
A song of freedom from a creek that struggled out of winter ice,
A song of freedom from a creek that struggled out of winter ice,
The falsetto howl of winds from higher lands above my valley,
The croon of softer breezes that have strayed into the bottom land...
The croon of softer breezes that have strayed into the bottom land...
Now I hear an unexpected chirp.
I look up into the branches of a maple tree and see a robin
strutting happily along a horizontal branch.
He peers at me as if expecting my hello and welcome.
And I give that to him willingly.
I am glad to see him.
---Rose Moore, 2-19-2015
