Writing Wednesday.

 

Not a Magpie Tale today, 

but a bird of a different sort . . .

My walk was so utterly lovely yesterday, with all the poignancy of a last embrace.  And indeed today rain and wind are snatching the last of autumn's splendor off the trees as I type. 

As often happens when confronted with beautiful things, 
my walk got my word-wheels turning. . .

and when I came home 

I just had to jot some lines 

about what I had seen.

There's a sharp divide over birds in my family, with some viewing them as creepy dinosaur leftovers and some who love everything about them, from the birds themselves to bird-as-metaphor.  (I fall into the latter camp, in case you are wondering. But I suspect you knew that.)

Anyway, my brief morning encounter with a feathered friend who was also busy soaking up the last sunshine resulted in a poem --

Autumn Cardinal
  

a crimson flit, fickle

unable to stay it offers

its lovely apology

a sliver of red song

on a quivering yellow perch --

shimmering coins, a curtain

of summer's last currency to spend

laid out against the blue

and counting out their worth

a pivotal contrast, this stark duet

of voice and color reaching

to sing the highest notes

hoping to be heard

above all else, remembered

the tremulous crescendo of a song

that will need to last awhile

-- smh

A little memento of a picture-perfect morning.

  

I hope you've been able to bask in a bit of autumn beauty in your own neck of the woods, or wherever it finds you.