It's Still Life

The bird bath is frozen, and the house stares out on a silvery fog. Crows on the hop. On the lawn. Pepper on white. Onyx on the hop. They argue. They joke. It’s a caw a caw — it’s a stabbing incantation as their beaks seek small creatures hidden in the soil, hidden like deep secrets, deep as nameless sleep. They’re on the hunt for a hallows moon feast. But morning has come, light’s envoy slips in with a slow cut, slipping in tangles through bare oaks, and snagging on the brambles. Morning speaks to sleep’s last sinew, and I listen as the world unfolds into the kindness of music.

Icy as diamonds
Thoughts on the edge of something
Summer’s forgotten

dVerse Monday Haibun