Spring is not Lost

The stark contrast
Of Joy and Death:
One fills the heart
The other tears it.

I watched her
Lifting her wings
Above the trees
For the first time.

Those magnificent wings
So gracefully pulsing
The invisible winds
Soaring fervently skyward.

I could feel her
Nervous heart tremble
Afraid but unafraid
Her future unknown.

Murder had taken her mate
And her offspring
And his mate
Awful, bloody, murder.

Out into the wild
I sent her flying.
My soul prayed
She would find another.

Our forty-square-mile lake
Abounds with ducks.
I wondered if maybe
I might see Jackie…one day.

On the fifth day,
Since her maiden flight,
I  planned demolition
Of her four year home.

Aviary door open
Pump still running
In the pond, I looked,
She had returned.

Bathing, flapping, eating,
Preening, dabbling, perching,
Jackie like Dorothy thought
There’s no place like home.

My heart now fluttered
My hands now busy
Not tearing down
But securely building up.

New husband, Prince,
Now on the way
From North Carolina.
Spring is not lost.

© Phyllis Weeks Rogers 5/9/18

 

Below are memories of those we lost:

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