N is for North: a poem

On Spring, North of 60

The seeking rays of the sun, golden in the perfect clearness of the returning morning light have found the hippy-heart crystals in my window and are casting rainbows of colour onto my walls and kitchen floor, causing the cat to dance madly from spark to spark of sapphire, emerald, ruby, tangerine and turquoise…

Bohemian Waxwings, those chirruping, silky, summer-time fly catchers, winter-time fruit-eaters, flit in undulating flocks from blue-red mayday to orange-red mountain ash and back again, solely to brighten my afternoon with their soft, mysterious calls.

When daylight finally agrees to stay for supper and when the evening meal is done we will toast ourselves cherry-red by the fire and admire the stars shining valiantly through the rippling green fingers of the Northern Lights.

Let us go to bed and browse the seed catalogues.
Winter begins in spring.

~Nita Collins, September 2014

 NI’m participating in the Blogging From A-Z challenge.  One blog post for each letter of the alphabet, each day of April (except Sunday). 

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