life hunkers down

as if action works as bait,
moving toward the binoculars
overcoming stoned inertia
there appears an unknown bird
soaring over stark street
pale size seagull it could be more exotic
i could shop for birds in the field guide
but then i'd miss that lightning dart
of some tiny fast being, i'd fail
to catch the cause of snow clump's
sudden dump off the cherry branches,
as germinated weed seeds
bathe in hot window direct sun love,
jetted inches tall in three days
as snow crusts the old dead volcano hill
and our prominent porches
in a petri dish for poetry the like of which
rare birds and dormant liquid stone
keep time in chimney smoke puffs
idyllic mount hood
pulling his glacier's pendleton of ice up
in wrinkled prehistoric zigzags,
literally seeping from my pores
in the french pressed coffee made of
bull run watershed tapwater, the
reservoirs glimmer only blocks
away nestled in my neighborhood groves
                        ---life hunkers down
the pine needle duels with light
and a heart of sweet sap holding sun all winter,
holding sun all winterwide

Mt Tabor Oregon