01/26/2019
Helen Harvey
January 22 at 3:44 PM ·
memory lane:
SNOW DELAY
A joyous tribute to my homing pigeons (aka white doves) and their first snowfall.
Lazy morning, chores on hold,
I'd rather lounge and hide from the cold.
The pup appears with slipper in tow,
He stares with a look that says "Git up, let's go!"
My gaze is drawn to a sight of white.
A blanket of snow blew in through the night.
Cold brisk air, heavy wet snow,
A building of red, coated in white.
Inside the barn I'm filled with delight,
Cooing and wooing-- the sounds of warm life.
I count every bill and offer some seed,
Then open the bobs-- "Go on, you're free!"
They hesitate first and think about flight,
My precious young birds of blue, tan, and white.
Cold brisk air, heavy wet snow.
A building of red, coated in white.
They jump from the loft but not to the air.
A hop to the roof, where they sit and they stare.
They're all holding tight, white on white,
Looking in wonder-- amazed or in fright?
I watch and I wait, expecting their flight-
A joyous, wonderful, breathtaking sight.
They sit, they wait, not ready for flight,
On a building of red, coated with white.
The wind chills my face, the snow, my toes,
My boots- they crunch and squeak on the snow.
My eyes track the dog, a slave to his snout,
Inspecting the smells- birds all about!
He races and runs, responds to my words.
His path is ablaze with the flight of small birds.
And still they sit, not ready for flight.
Amazed by the sight of a world in white.
My chores complete, the cold hits my feet,
Back through the snow to a warm retreat.
Where I ponder the sights, the sounds, the feel,
of the first snow of winter's magic appeal.
The dog curls up, the cat's in a dream,
I grab pen and paper to capture the scene.
They tremble, they stir, they pick at the snow.
Amazed by the sight of a world in white.
Then they burst off the roof in a flurry of white.
They swoop down the hill-- a show of delight.
Downwind they travel so fast and so free.
Upwind they circle, returning to me.
White wings flashing, they circle as one.
I'm thinking the obvious-- flying is fun!
A sky of white. A flock of white.
Amazed by the sight of a world in white.
An eagle appears, white tail and white head,
The flock buzzes past her, showing no dread.
Slowly and stately, she banks, heads away,
My flock cuts a corner, and speeds back my way.
They're fast, agile fliers, light on the wing.
The wind through their feathers, makes them all sing.
A flock of white, circling flight.
Behold the sight-- amazing delight.
