The bird feeder I so carefully hung
from a tree branch
and lovingly filled with seed
lies broken;
blown down in the storm last night.
The birds shunned the feeder before;
I always wondered why.
Now two brown finches are feasting
on the spilled seed.
They hop about on toothpick legs
and at first I think they must be almost delirious
to find this treasure
on a cold January morning.
But then I notice
their heads twitching
nervously,
scanning the sky for
the red hawk that lives nearby.
