one minute,
you were flying free in a dreamy rose ribboned sky with the wind kissing your wings
and the next minute,
you were crashing into a false future,
impersonating a cloudy horizon,
delivering a heart-stopping
ending
to a very small but precious story
cardinals coming and going—flying through the slats on the little side porch, eating at the feeder, drinking in the fountain
a single peony shimmering in the morning sun
cups of orange spice tea on cool nights
family gatherings with pineapple popsicles
glasses of deep red wine into the night
cool linen sheets for afternoon naps
the stillness of a perched crow—
perhaps it contemplates a distant destination,
the whisper of flapping wings,
the camaraderie of a journey at dawn across January skies,
or the solitary moment on the margin between flight and rest
spanishwoods 