Welcome Home

The wearied leaves of the weathered dogwood
tree welcome me home, reaching canopy
and birds singing, calling out, greeting good
day, and blue sky fading, last light to see

before sunset blazes over the trees.
Still air, mountain chill, bird’s courageous hop
to the feeder, eats, eyes me warily,
sitting in my machan-like perch, hilltop.

Blossoms, from yesterday’s torrential sop,
strewn about and brown-head nuthatch dances
alone in the trees, night falling backdrop;
she flies away with no backward glances.

The orange light through the trees entrances,
casting her glow on my dreams, romances.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019


Popular posts from this blog

Letter to my future self

Still the Birds Sing