Seasonal Poetry: Chickadees in the Hawthorn Tree

Chick­adees in the Hawthorn Tree
–Can­dace Black
from The Vol­un­teer

Seed on a tray remains
untouched, those black-capped
acro­bats enjoying
their tus­sle with dark fruit.
Mid-August, the heavy
green silence of after­noon heat broken
only by a rau­cous indigo
arrow glid­ing from tree to fence,
to tree again. The jay
claims this yard. Lettuce
bolts but stays sweet. Dur­ing winter
we will be fed by what grows
today. The pantry holds
apple­sauce in quart jars, dark treasure
pots of black­ber­ry jam, chutney,
pick­led beets, apple butter.
In those wet dull months, hungry
for this elu­sive and brief
sea­son, we’ll watch
the feed­er: the flash of migratory
birds, the depend­able colors
of old friends.

Cyn is a proud Mommy & Mémé, professional geek, avid reader, fledgling coder, enthusiastic gamer (TTRPGs), occasional singer, and devoted stitcher.
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