Poetry | Stories | Photography
Tall trees hide many birds,
as we walk into the forest.
Unfamiliar bird chattering,
puts our quiet time to rest.
Onward we go dreaming,
wishing for the old times.
We spread out rugs, food;
looking up, down, around.
A bird pounces: one, two;
bread slices disappearing.
Another bird pounces soft;
fruit pieces are vanishing.
We nibble on what is left,
photographing the birds.
Wind from the hills moves down,
moving across fields of colour.
Waves of the sea move through
the spring blossoming flowers –
moving, swaying, blooming.
A melody plays on the wind,
a song from the many birds.
Whispers of so many scents
dance in a poem on the wind –
melody, music, movement.
over the hills
and through the valley
down into the river
and through to the sea
I stand thinking about you
you who inhabits my bird nest of a heart
A heart that only nests one bird; you
