A Song Of Frozen Birds


It was an unexpected chill
As the icy north wind
Pierced like a shooting needle
Through the morning sun
So cold
That you could almost see it
Tumble down the mountainside

It was a morning of frozen birds
Falling like rain from the sky
Off the boughs of trees
Dripping down
And splashing like colored drops
On the rock hard ground

As I walked the wintry woods
I pictured the ice-cold wind as a brush
Painting the woods with drops of color
Bird colors of blues, greens and reds
That seemed to come alive
And sing.


4 thoughts on “A Song Of Frozen Birds

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