By P.T. Tyx
for Marilee, 2013
A blue bird is a kind gesture flitting through the breeze-blown woods,
_active as a holiday.
It offers a glimpse of pretty like a whispered “Merry Christmas”
_amid the swooshing hub-bub of green-leafed branches.
As quick as an eye winks, the moment chirps a fleeting joy, then widens
_to the smell of moss nodding north.
One brooms a trail through the annoying brambles and stolid tree trunks,
_avoiding stickers and nettles.
Hard-scrubbing concentration pockets the key to not being swallowed
_by the so-much-to-do adventure.
Weather is the wardrobe of season, changing aprons as duties dictate,
_while wind whisks sound like a housekeeper vacuuming the curtains.
Hiking can become another chore as legs tire and rocks and ruts
_trouble the path.
The forest grows household routine, each step forward more and more familiar,
_until even the wildflowers dot the weedy floor with rug-like regularity.
_____Yet, the bluebird, like a kind gesture, darts in sight and away.
It is a glancing of pretty, a personal “Merry Christmas,” which kisses the cheek
_and inspires a smile.
Such moments, so nice and unexpected, are appreciated in a wisp of delight
_and then are gone.
P.T. Tyx resides near Greenville, Ohio.