The wash of morning rain….
Nothing other than the sound of its falling.
Now - begins what we know here as stick season.
Some call it color-less.
But - for the birds….
Who continue to raise their voices…sing their songs….and render the landscape color-full.
Haunting
Every year - it’s the same.
The sound of their voices…
Haunting.
This Sky Space
Hard to know what to feel - at this tenuous time of year.
A wee bit of sadness for the season that’s passed?
How did it come…and - now - go so fast?
A wee bit of hope for the whatever might come?
Some mornings - I like to believe
Those who inhabit this sky space….hold the answers.