This morning the sky is a cold, pale blue, and the sun is bright, though not warm. It is both cooled and intensified by the snow, which lies on the ground looking puckered like a quilt from where the winds raced across yesterday during the storm. The bird feeder roof wears a white cap, and more birds than usual seem to have made their way to my ( Read more... )

When is a poem not just a poem? When it's a riddle poem, of course ( Read more... )