Reclining on the balcony
Brigit's Flame, March week 1, "local colors". Poetry, 145 words, no warnings. Bonus points if you catch any/all 8 television show + 1 movie series reference :)
Looking out around me, the locals are out in full:
The brown-coated sparrows twitter away en masse;
the bluejays dart from here to there, sounding their song no matter the time.
Pure white swans float in their glorified haughtiness
while nefarious black-headed geese honk and waddle and plot.
A flash of red reveals itself to be a male cardinal before it disappears again,
while its ruddy-brown mate minds the nest and home.
A midnight black crow caws from some dark forgotten corner, and at the base of a tree,
a small pile of feathers and bone the only evidence of its silent hunter.
A little shrew nose peeks out of its hidey hold before disappearing again, as the shadow of
an orange tabby slinks by, presumably in search of a tasty rat already short a bite out of its tail.
Who needs other people, anyways?
Looking out around me, the locals are out in full:
The brown-coated sparrows twitter away en masse;
the bluejays dart from here to there, sounding their song no matter the time.
Pure white swans float in their glorified haughtiness
while nefarious black-headed geese honk and waddle and plot.
A flash of red reveals itself to be a male cardinal before it disappears again,
while its ruddy-brown mate minds the nest and home.
A midnight black crow caws from some dark forgotten corner, and at the base of a tree,
a small pile of feathers and bone the only evidence of its silent hunter.
A little shrew nose peeks out of its hidey hold before disappearing again, as the shadow of
an orange tabby slinks by, presumably in search of a tasty rat already short a bite out of its tail.
Who needs other people, anyways?