WINGED SOARERS OF THE TREE OF LIFE
A duck in a pond;
A turkey in a yard;
A blackbird, a crow, and
A dove soaring in the sky:-
There must be something
About the sacredness of birds;
Why else would all of the angels
Have arms, legs, and such broad wings?
Indeed, through tweeting winged wisdom,
Let us be aware that we are to be soarers in labors
Of love, peace, hope, faith, and divine splendor
As servants whose wings wait in The Nest of The Tree.
Thus, let us not take the winged ones of creation
For granted; as in The Tree of Life, their messaging
Is woven in the twigs of words in The Book of The Nest
Guiding us in every canvassed vision of our winged friends:
“Behold the fowls of the air; for they sow not,
Neither do they reap, nor gather into barns;
Yet your heavenly Father feedeth them.
Are ye not much better than they?” (Mt. 6:26)
They slip in unnoticed
just below the burning rays of the sun solstice
lighting on the last flowers of summer bare,
sweet nectar wafting in the heavy laden air,
colors brilliant, glowing, coy
orange black monarchs and viceroys,
great spangled fritillary yellows and whites,
tiger swallowtails in yellow black stripes,
California sisters, red admirals, blues, skippers,
silent and stealth like they come on windy clippers
floating and flittering in mid-August dance,
waltzing on the warm light breeze tree branch,
eye-catching, dainty lace winged soarers,
quick and slow in flight flutterers scorers,
enticed by flowered whispers between thorn and nettles
painted ladies hovering in place on petals
mourning cloakers, dark gray stokers with blended color palettes,
rudders navigating windy turns and landings on salads,
southern dogfaces heading south in transition
migratory lives gathering in submission
to climatic phenomena seen on the window pane
tempered by the sun, the surf, and rain
waving goodbye to the northern lights
hello to the southern fields and forests cool nights.
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