I watched a bird tiptoe down a branch today.
It performed a sort of shimmy,
right foot left foot, right foot left,
moving side to side, its beak pointing
at the dried and brittle tips
of the berries at the branch’s end.
Berries? Or just dried disappointment?
The bird’s destination seemed more symbol of wintry
death than sign of sunny pre-spring
sustenance.
The branch bent beneath the bird’s advance,
leaning wistfully against another, itself supporting
its own bird having its own expedition into the lightness
of life and the unexpected if impermanent flexibility
of the food chain.