The tufted titmouse
Doesn't flee when I step out--
But she looks my way
And the scolding she gives me
Is quite unmistakable.
After a short while
None of the birds seem to care
That I am out here.
There are no more screeching scolds
Aimed at me. Just the flutter
Of dozens of wings
And the hammering of beaks
On sunflower seeds.
This morning, before everyone else got out of bed, I sat outside on the back deck and took these pictures and wrote these poems:
I see you up there,
Visible half of the moon,
Just over my head
And thousands of miles away--
But where is your other half?
Coffee, notebook, pen,
Birds and squirrels and a light breeze,
The deck to myself,
Everyone else still asleep--
This is a perfect morning.
Half green, half orange,
The leaves are in transition--
Beautiful changes
"Squirrel proof" it may be,
But "chipmunk proof" it is not--
Eat well, little guy!
