Sparrow hawks swooping
Their high pitched lonely songs are echoing
Blue Jays perch, tails flipping
Their sharp harsh vocals are piercing
Cardinals timidly perch and twitch
They squeak and fly away
The winds are frozen in stillness
Their songs on the wind chimes are silent
The trees look like unearthed plant roots
Scraggly and bare
The sky is blue with puffs of white
The sun casts shadows of rooftops onto the frozen snow
And reflects blindingly off of parked car windows
That’s life in a snapshot on Quail court this cold winter morn.
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