As Starlings to the Wire Fly

As Starlings to the Wire Fly


The well honed bite of late February reposed in the wind, full of fomented bluster
My cheeks glistening red, my ears sting and burn at her touch as I stand watching
My early morning world is quick in the coldness that surrounds me, it makes me ache
People scurry to and fro, running, hiding from the wind in a battle lost
As starlings to the wire fly, huddling in double rows, bowing headfirst into the wind

Bundled and wrapped beyond recognition, all scarves, hats, and heads lowered
Identities masked as they scurry by on to who knows where, when or what
Leggings and coats of heavy wool, boots crunchy, noisy on the frozen snow
Quick steps shuffle past, into the distance they go noisily, leaning into the cold wind
As starlings to the wire fly, huddling in double rows, bowing headfirst into the wind


February’s bite brings hope for March’s inconsistent days of all that nature offers
March’s days allow people to run and hide, to stroll and lull, to fall in love and out
Greenness waiting in the wings, wrapped in the buds of trees on the cold grey streets
Roots of the grass slowly awaken to the ever longer days, with its warming sun
As robins to the wire fly, dancing with glee, April’s affirmation of renewal in their song