They have returned, nearly two weeks ago now. They arrived the day the snow melted.

I thought I knew the bird as I glanced out the window–a titmouse, wasn’t it? But no–tufted, but different. I watched them as they greedily attacked my cherry tree, lusty little creatures, so beautiful still with their golden full bellies, their masks. They chattered and shared their bounty with one another before flying off swallow-like to another yard, another tree, another fruit-filled orgy.

But they have returned each morning since… still finding pleasure in my yard. Lovely.

The sun warms my arms as I take a step onto the sidewalk, headed into the day, into life, into spring, which will come soon, which will be waiting.

2 thoughts on “waxwing

  1. Jo says:

    Ah, nice. I can’t wait til the cold recedes here -it’s starting, but the boiler is broken and it’s still blooody cold.

  2. 1manview says:

    The hint of spring warmth always warm the heart first, which warms the rest of you inside out…

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