Wendy Morton, friend and poet, just sent this to me from her home in Sooke, BC. It begged to be shared.
SOLSTICE
The hummingbird in the back garden
doesn’t know about the global meltdown.
She’s sitting tight on her own nest egg,
by the heated feeder we’ve wrapped
with coils and duct tape.
We think the heat moves up to her,
because she stays put through
December’s hail and Arctic winds
that whip right through
the ivy and snowberries.
Fluffed up and iridescent,
she’s just waiting for the light.
(Here’s a recent review of Wendy’s memoir, and here’s a review of Undercover.)
