We spend all morning making birdhouses
With grey boards from your barn
Torn down months ago; boards now
Withered and worn, lasting
Over winters and springs
With memories alive, smiling, crying;
Sending strummed songs into dawn mists.
Waiting woods surround us;
Breathing slows as my soul searches
God's morning miracles, and
I surrender to hushed peace
Flowing like virgin feathers
Into whispers of chill that challenge
Blue awakening skies this February morning.
Hammering barn boards
Splitting old wood in two
I stand beside you and watch you,
Your constancy like the Northern star
After pale, blue days
Waiting as Nature's promises come true,
Praying you will forgive me.
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