Beautiful prose poem by Joseph Hesch….
For weeks we’ve waited, peeking through the lacy front door curtain as a pair of house finches set to keeping their own house in our covered entryway. One day there was nothing but lazy disinterest in the swale of the too-late-removed Easter wreath. The next, I found a mesh of twigs, sprigs and finch spit. And inside I spied an egg, light sky blue with reddish dots at one end. Eventually, five potential finches grew in the goo within their thinly armored launchpads. Mama finch would sit dutifully upon her someday quints, bursting for the skeleton red maple out front only when the tread of threat approached the doorway. Her mate would stand astride the gutter along the roofline, staring red-headed avian wrath upon any who might crash their birthday party. But today, they’re gone, taken off, their nest deserted, save for that first egg. At the bottom of the…
View original post 228 more words
You must be logged in to post a comment.