Ambling about in mid-morn's quiet
on a small gravel drive carved out
between two rows of loblolly pine,
my meandering reverie is broken by
a flash of feather—
white, black, capped with crimson.
He darts by closely—my cheek's
warmed by his wing in passing.
Ruffled now, roused from reverie,
my eye follows his flight to a
refuge high in clustered pine needles.
Only his red feathers show now.
Tat, tat, tat—he's at work
finding lunch in the bark,
I return to my well-worn path,
refreshed, invigorated by the flash of
beauty that crossed my path this morning,
grateful for the break in routine,
for a  moment of being ruffled, a
close connection with an other.

This poem first appeared on Writing in a Woman's Voice.
Used here with permission.