A Bird Left Poetry…

The first night’s efforts of a winter storm and cold spell left snowdust on our mudroom porch.

In that early morning snowdust were tracks.

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Tracks from someone who had been up even earlier that I.

The tracks carried rhythm.

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The tracks carried music.

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The tracks held a moment in time, as does a photograph. 

There were rhythms in the marks and spaces.

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In our last picture, the snow is a matrix.

Snowless cracks between boards break the picture into three parts.

Three groups of tracks, from three different bird motions, impress the snow.

Five footprints.

Seven footprints.

Five footprints.

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A footprints haiku in the snow.

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