He waits upon the beam
that holds the rafters up,
dry weed in his beak.
He chirps incessantly
as she constructs a nest
with what he brings her.
He seems to have forgotten
the ear-piercing love songs
from her red-breasted suitors
prancing on the railing
now that he has a partner
to get the real work done.
Early yet in an early spring,
growing patches, orange-gold,
claim open slopes like flames,
Fiddleneck between gray skeletons
of Blue Oaks pushing bud,
feathery translucent leaves
where the gods walk ridges,
wave hands to paint,
adding color to hillside green
we’ve not seen tall in years.
Out of dust and naked dirt,
new mosaics, lush with moments,
openings for everything put off
in drouth—real work we absorb,
take our sweet time to recognize.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal
Tagged Blue Oak, Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, real work, time, weather, weekly-photo-challenge, wildflowers
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