Monday Morning Prayer

Fireworks have nothing on me, no man-made show can match this explosive display. Shocking green here, shouting magenta there, showy white front and center. No gunpowder could blow breezes like this  to bristle trees, to “whoosh” the wind across the skies, no factory fierce enough to produce this bright beauty. Spring’s verb says  the growing…

The feeder hangs swaying, no avian fellows alighting. (males are the brightest; why?) I wait and watch–they’ve flown I wonder where–for food? Will their shimmering yellow return, a harbinger of the lightening days ahead? Indeed, one by one, I know they’ll come hungry again (still) as they’ve done year after year finding food, flying beauty, feeding me with their…