Tamara Willems

feeding the birds…

It is the kind of morning,
where pink slipper crocs and a hand-me-down
Fall Out Boy sweatshirt, charcoal sweatpants
and freshly washed hair
are perfectly acceptable
outdoor wear
a lovely cool breeze aiding the billows of white
in periodically covering up the sun
behind them

after coffee together,
my love is off to work and I am out
filling feeders
homemade suet to start
pushed out of molds and squished into cages
hoping the squirrels will appreciate the peanuts more
and not run off with large hunks
of the good stuff
before the birds have a chance
to feed
either way I suppose, tis my pleasure
to provide

always there is a certain joy
to the out of doors
fresh cool air of course, how it
swirls in a great rush
gathers one up
almost as if you have felt cramped wings
begin to flutter

feather by delicate

and for me, as I still am unable to breathe well
through my nose
it offers up a very brief and most

something very hope-filled in a day
that promises
spring will indubitably
(and isn’t that a rather fun-filled word
to use
on such a day as this)

a day to celebrate
every ordinary thing
sunshine and blue skies
air to breathe (as best one can)
the very sight of little green sprouts
always love

and the feel of a Sunday
knowing one doesn’t have to
get up for work

on a
holiday Monday ♥

look up, look way up

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