Photo Story: Winter Birds
Every winter, thinner ice on the lake, rotting and fragile. Soon the birds will go farther north, chasing the last crystal cold. Today, you and I watch as they come in, and you—who were born of my body, tearing at us both—you say I have more words and hours for my camera than you. But I will be gone before you, along with the lake ice, so I freeze ghosts of birds in silver. On the plate, there is no earth or sky, no aching past or shadowed future. I give you my birds this way: perfect, free.
Every year around this time. As the temperature lowers and the chill freezes. Snow covers the ground, and the surrounding houses fill with heat. We see our friends, high in the sky, flying for warmth. We want to help. We feel bad, but we don’t want to help. Flying south for warmth, flying south for heat, flying south for comfort. We always wonder why do they leave, and where do they go. But every year. When the snow fades, and the temperature increases. We see our flying friends, returning to the crisp, clean warm air of the north.
Lovely! So heart rending and beautiful at the same time.
Beautiful story…
Wonderful story. The Heartfelt words are apparent.
Vivid and poignant; thank you for creating and contributing!
beautiful words