The birds trill, their bodies quake and move and flit and fly about,
There are many, not the same, but different,
Sparkles of raindrops of colors,
Some drab and brown, flat against the backdrop,
Some so brightly colored with pinks and auburn, vented blacks, careful greens placed on oranges, little pearls
Of sunshine showing each carefully picked and cleaned feather, wafting away, up and further up, till the trees
Can only seem to ache in the paths.
Fresh morning, each day above our heads, starts another, that keep us and the dogs looking upward,
And feeling it being there, again for us.
Ralph Peck
Photo by Marla Bolton
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