Below is a poem written with the intent of revealing what had occurred shortly after scattering seed on the lawn. The grass was frozen and the bird feeders were empty because I had been running out of seed and had been trying to stretch it until I could get to the store. I scattered the last of the seed and went inside. By the time I was back to my coffee the birds were on the lawn. By writing the poem I was trying to make a picture of a moment with words instead of a camera.
9:30 November 30, 2019
At 7:44
on the last
day of November
the
temperature was
30 degrees,
at 9:30
the
temperature
is 32
degrees.
In an ice
blue sky
a cold sun
shines
on
red-winged blackbirds and doves
gleaning the
last handfuls of seed and corn
from the
dormant grass
on the last
day of November.
© David H. Roche
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