A flurry of blue, three blue jays
All over the upper reaches
Of the canopy of oak and pecan,
Shading my seat on Mother's
Patio, by the goldfish pond.
Like WW II aces, they roll
And pursue, tree, to tree, to tree.
And, THERE, high, and right,
A gray squirrel, weighing down
One pecan branch, calmly
Catching another, releasing
The first, then scampering.
Yesterday, pruning azalea bushes,
A female cardinal let
Me look into her brown eyes.
