From where I sit
through glass door and windows I look
at a white wonderland world
It feeds back to my eyes
purity, loftiness and
dreams of a quiet and still earth
The snow piles up
along with thoughts of
how to spend this one quiet day
Only the wild turkey visits
to forage through layers of ice and snow
finding bird seed, now buried
His beak, the perfect instrument
for this job
and for making pathways
the brave woodpecker
follows
to eat what is uncovered
What wild beak
will peck through my thoughts
on this one quiet day
Mary
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