I saw a sign that read, “Ring Bell for Human Contact.” I did not ring the bell.
When shade turns to sun, dark-eyed juncos are the first to emerge from the brush.
After several dark days, the sun coming through this window might as well be a god.
When I was filling the birdbath, a blue jay did his best impression of a red-tailed hawk. I think he wanted to bathe all by himself.
The male cardinal is a grace note in the bare rose of Sharon.
A highway runs through one of our wetland areas. Shame on us.
A shadow crosses the highway. Above, a red-tailed hawk.
You know you’re going to die, and you live anyway. That’s how it is.
I have edited the landscape to include more detritus.
The last leaves on the crabapple tree: ornaments.
I only answered the door because I thought you were a bird.
Unordered list: waxing crescent moon, bare maple tree, dull opal sky.
The remaining leaves sound like dry grasses.
Black Friday. I can’t get to the wetlands fast enough.
The snow geese fly in the shape of a swallow.
Scatter my ashes in the prairie cordgrass.
Four red-tailed hawks soar above our subdivision.
Starlings carry the shape of power lines into the air.
Death won’t happen to me. I won’t be there. – Jose Faus