Every day that I walk to work, I pass by a rosebush. This rosebush doesn't produce the most beautiful roses I've ever seen, but it is remarkable for the fact that it still has flowers, despite it being December, and despite no other plant in the area having leaves, let alone blossoms. I call it a frose. The dark red of its summer plumage has cooled to a dull salmon red. The petals look like they'd shatter if I tapped them. And I suspect that if I sniffed the flower, frozen shards of scent would spear my nostrils.
And then I heard the crows playing Marco Polo in the trees. I looked ahead and saw two perfectly matched birds hopping toward one another in sync. They stood like ebony bookends, and when I got closer, one hopped once, twice, and then flew off in an explosion of black.
And white.
Hidden while he was walking was a brilliant white wing feather. It gleamed in the dim winter sun as he flew overhead.
And then I heard the crows playing Marco Polo in the trees. I looked ahead and saw two perfectly matched birds hopping toward one another in sync. They stood like ebony bookends, and when I got closer, one hopped once, twice, and then flew off in an explosion of black.
And white.
Hidden while he was walking was a brilliant white wing feather. It gleamed in the dim winter sun as he flew overhead.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-06 04:06 pm (UTC)From:My fake pear tree also still has a good number of its leaves, much later than most other trees in my neighborhood... don't know why either...
no subject
Date: 2005-12-06 07:13 pm (UTC)From: