I Don’t See The Juncos, Anymore

About This Author

Web~Witch is living and writing with a passion, surrounded by the picturesque beauty of a quaint New England town in Massachusetts. She is inspired by the gorgeous maples, the rolling hills and the vast sea. As a mother of five children, four daughters and one son, she has learned that life offers many challenges, yet, has found that there is always a path of least resistance. She enjoys every day and what it has to offer. Her dream is to pass along as much positivity as possible to others. Enjoying life to its fullest , laughing, spreading joy and humor and paying it forward is what describes the heart and soul of this woman. Welcome to her little corner of the world. Do enjoy some New England charm and warmth while you are visiting. Ta, WW

I Don’t See The Juncos, Anymore

It is a splendid time when they first appear,
sure sign up North, winter creeps ever near.
It seems they can detect the exact moment of the first snow.
No convincing necessary, they will show -- they always do.
Busy under the feeder, foraging through seeds
pushed aside by other feathery friends with less patience.
The cardinals don’t seem to care,
there’s enough to go around;
scattered on the ground, strikingly dark against a dusting of white.

Starkly they stand-out, sweetly flitting, flirting; so it seems,
a perky pair brush against one another.
Perhaps an early dinner
then off to view a magnificent display of the sunset unfolding.
The light dims quickly this time of year.
After enjoying a seed-feast, fueling their famished bellies,
the recent travelers find a tall branch,
there to perch; the best seat sought,
as the last of the light fades above the barren birch.

Evergreen shadows catch the full moon,
but it won’t be for long, clouding is expected.
The dark coolness whips-up a chill of moisture in the air
causing downy flakes, like fluffy angel feathers,
to break loose in the wind.
It will cover the long-armed boughs of the fir,
fitting them like a well tailored shirt.
Such is the unstarched finery from above.

The juncos are asleep for the night.
They require rest, to dig deeper into the snow
for the hidden seeds buried below.
Morning will be a double treat
blanketed with a fresh white cover
and the industrious little birds.
They’ll enjoy their southern winter home;
yet in my mind, it is still the North.

Gazing at a gorgeous near-spring sunset,
I study the amazing flying creatures surrounding this lovely paradise.
Averting my eyes toward the feeder outside my window
I thought, perhaps for one misinterpreted moment,
that I caught a glimpse of a junco.
Impossible! I said -- and that of course, is true.
It’s merely my mind’s eye playing a trick.
It couldn’t have been that bird at all;
they don’t migrate to Florida.

I don’t see the juncos anymore.
I haven’t missed them until today.

Author's Note:
According to Wikipedia, "The Dark-eyed Junco (Junco hyemalis) is the best-known species of the juncos, a genus of small grayish American sparrows. This bird is common across much of temperate North America and in summer ranges far into the Arctic. It is a very variable species, much like the related Fox Sparrow (Passerella iliaca), and its systematics is still not completely untangled."

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