“Look at the birds…” Matt 6: 26
For the moment
sun sows gold
this early morning
late in February—
reflecting
from the stucco
on the house
across the street—
shining though the curtains’
off-white fabric—
showing gray in silhouette
the winter roses right outside.
Exuberant birds—
their songs—their cheeping—
breech my walls
and my attention
and I wonder
can they sense or know
the forecast calls
for wind and rain—
a day to make us
seek for shelter—
huddle from
another onslaught?
But no holding back
their hearty singing—
no teaching them
about the Now.
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