WINGED.

WINGED.

I lie looking out my windows my thoughts framed in four parts.
I see the feeble efforts of a sun trying to dictate new rules to
the snow-baked ground,
all the while the tress remains silent.
They are sleepy, very very sleepy and are not willing to speak.
Then I saw him,
bright red, and winged, perched on a sleep-soaked bough.
he stared at me and I stared right back,
he troubled my thoughts and I resisted,  

clever red-winged bird unnamed to me                  
I clicked my mind shut to release him
that’s when he cocked his head first to the right and then to the left and quickly winged away leaving me on my bed to stare through framed four part windows.
Silence, white silence
the sun became bolder,
still the snow held fast.

lmh 12192020 after the snow i am thinking

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