Saturday Bird Songs
Silently Lost behind the
Western most peak
On the horizon
Early Morning moon
All is still
Except for
A cacophony of bird song

A woman has written
Words like petals
Colorful and sweet
The monitor glows
Her staff the Keyboard

Years ago her home
Was a pit house
Foundation of stone
Her touchstone
A warrior/hunter
Man she loved

Now many generations later
She calls to her former self
Her own Grandmother
Of long ago
Locks her eyes upon
The horizon
Watches for a dust devil
To rise the powdered dust
From the desert floor

After awhile
Her eyes return
To the monitor
Her fingers to the keys
Sprinkle more petals
On the page
To be sung in
Saturday morning key

21 thoughts on “March 30, 2013 Sunday Whirl #102 Saturday Bird Songs

  1. This is so lovely, Annell, and it took me right back too, to the young maiden, her warrior spouse, images of dust devils rising under the horses’ hooves. You lifted me up and away then set me gently back down. Thank you.

  2. Beautiful poem, Annell! I love this image:
    “A woman has written
    Words like petals
    Colorful and sweet
    The monitor glows
    Her staff the Keyboard”

  3. I felt lost in ‘her’ contemplation as she time to the bird song..always we must turn to the page..the words..images..beautiful petals..happy easter to you all x

  4. I love the idea of your forebears being your former self. This is so satisfying knowing your children’s children will be you later.

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