The Poet Awaits a Word

Under a pale sun— a thicket’s last leaf and, wind-ragged, a yellow finch Posted in response to the Ragtag daily prompt: Solitude.

Eleven Days ‘Till Spring

There is silence greater than waiting for chickadee-dee-dee in winter-ruined thickets Posted in response to the Ragtag Daily Prompt tune

Watching for the Vagrant

the vast winter sky with its few ragged geese Vs silent of “chick-a-dee”

Have They Kept the Swallows in Capistrano this Year?

"I am certain that the Lord, who notes the fall of a sparrow. . . ." Thomas S. Monson No ill more nauseous than still white quiet in the catkin willow grove. Noise