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At 7 I searched the aisles of Gerber's nursery high and low. There it was. Shiny copper, like a new penny. Just my size. Dad paid $7.95 for my little bird feeder. For hours, I sat on my bed, with "Birds of North America" in my lap, while I stared out at my visitors through paned glass. I found their real names, "cardinal" and "gold finch," but I named them things like "Isabella" and "Rocky" and "Mr. Magoo."
I've moved out, grown up. But Dad left my feeder there, and fills it every now and then. It reminds me that home is still home when I think of my little birds coming to my empty window, even if I'm not there.
4 comments:
Roof over your head
A portion of daily bread
What more do you need?
Well maybe a friend or two
to share the table with you.
Off to the side
I watch from my deck
as a feathery trio
gaze into blue.
My eyes follow
with hope to free
my restless thoughts
with a bird's liberty.
Gentle person,
We give you thanks,
for food to warm our bones.
For dry and safe
and seed filled joy
to brighten all our days.
At 7
I searched the aisles
of Gerber's nursery
high and low.
There it was. Shiny copper,
like a new penny.
Just my size.
Dad paid $7.95 for my little
bird feeder. For hours,
I sat on my bed, with
"Birds of North America"
in my lap, while I stared
out at my visitors through
paned glass. I found their real names, "cardinal" and "gold finch,"
but I named them things like
"Isabella" and "Rocky" and "Mr. Magoo."
I've moved out, grown up.
But Dad left my feeder there,
and fills it every now and then.
It reminds me that home
is still home
when I think of my little birds
coming to my empty window,
even if I'm not there.
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