These are the season’s first birds,
small, fragile but resilient,
without which morning could not exist.
These are the earliest blossoms,
swaying in birdsong.
This is the cat, sitting in a window,
And I am the I, recording.
I move about the space like air,
less substantial than air, seeing
and touching what is seen.
I cease recording.
I cease, become.
(NOTE: The fact that we got almost a foot of new snow over the past 24 hours makes this piece total fantasy.)
RDP Tuesday ~ DELICATE