A Winter's Morning At My Bird Feeders

 I have always loved feeding birds, especially in the winter when the snow is deep upon the ground. To watch birds at a feeder is like dinner theater. Each bird that comes to the feeder has such a different character, they are like actors in a play. I love nature photography as much as I love birds at my feeders, so here is a small selection of bird pictures that I have taken over the years. They inspire such feelings of wonder and delight. To know that God in his grace has gifted us such wonderful little creatures for us to enjoy, makes my heart glad. I hope the lines of this poem I wrote, and the pictures I've taken, bring as much joy to your hearts as they have mine. I pray God bless each and everyone of you, for he cares more for you than even his birds.

 

Out my window in the dawns still light, 

snow has fallen softly in the night.

 

Birds a twitter at my feeder stands,

                                                                little ones a whirl,

                                                                a Scrub Jay lands.

                                                                    Finches red,

                                                                small Junco, 

                                                             Towhee's bright,

                                                    Chickadee's that chatter in the light.

 

They flit and flap, like puffballs in the snow, 

cute and sweet they put on quite a show.

The sun is up, 

the Quail flock soon arrives,

the small birds scatter, as if for their lives.

                                                    For like a flock of chickens to the corn,

                                                 the Quail come rushing on this snowy morn.

 

Not polite they jam the smallest cracks, 

they even stand upon each other's backs.

Then such a fuss and such a crazy show,

like vaudeville tumblers playing in the snow.

They leap and flap and peck and fall about,

until with laughter I just want to shout.

But suddenly they stop and stand aside,

now comes the Pheasant,

with his dainty bride.

He is the king come to this festal board.

 He barely deigns to notice madding hoard.

He calmly strolls to take his fill of grain,

Most dignified he will not long remain.

Satisfied he soon departs the scene,

 

The Quail resume as if he'd never been.

 Out my window in the falling snow,

a view more wonderful I do not know.