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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3837 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Sestina Final Gary Blankenship I search for goldfinch in quiet gardens, their per-chik-o-ree call gone until spring and yellow weeds bloom among tame blossoms. Crystal snow drifts over frozen ground like white parachutes chased by frantic birds long departed for Baja’s shining surf. From frosted beach grass, I watch curlews surf the sound’s shore like wasps ply the garden and gnats ride air to escape hungry birds. Fall we wish for winter, in winter spring, chasing the seasons as quail go to ground and bees hunt honey in dead blossoms. At Cabo, among scarlet and gold blossoms, I open a window and quickly search for migration routes that reveal the ground covered to get from here to our garden, amazed every flight arrives in spring the precise moment I look for my birds. Hunt complete, I watch hummingbirds dart and dive from blossom to bright bloom. Their flight snaps as if they’ve tail springs, zero pounds of feathers that on the surface seem too stressed to be part of a garden where even flies appear totally grounded. Tired of sun, home to common frozen ground, tired of color, home to dull brown birds - titbush, nuthatch, the tone of dead gardens, junco, chickadee, like broken blossoms – wave after wave of drops in sandy surf. Bored with winter, we wish for birds of spring. The first redbreast seen when crocus spring through the frozen crust of snow-covered ground. Sparrow tracks and wren’s mark the surface, rejoice in the return of festive birds, content nods from a rainbow of blossoms, and songs spread beyond our simple garden. |
